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Library   Edition 

THE  WIT  AND  HUMOR 
OF  AMERICA 

In  Ten  Volumes 
VOL.  IV 


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JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 


3rawintf  from  photo, 

Jopyriehted  by 

iliss  Johnston— Mrs.  Hewitt,  N.  Y. 


THE 

WIT  AND  HUMOR 

OF  AMERICA 


EDITED  BY 

MARSHALL  P.  WILDER 


Volume  IV 


Funk  &  Wagnalls  Company 

New  Yor'"  and  London 


Copyright  MDCCCCVII,  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


Copyright  MDCCCCXI,  THE  THWING  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


PAG* 


April  Aria,  An R.  K.  Munkittrick  7" 

-As  Good  as  a  Play" Horace  E.  Scudder  749 

Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table,  The 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  753 

Briefless  Barrister,  The John  G.  Saxe  585 

Cable-Car  Preacher,  A Sam  Walter  Foss  647 

Caesar's  Quiet  Lunch  with  Cicero James  T.  Fields  760 

Cheer  for  the  Consumer Nixon  Waterman  740 

Comin"  Home  Thanksgivin* James  Ball  Naylor  763 

Complaint  of  Friends,  A Gail  Hamilton  604 

Coupon  Bonds,  The J-  T.  Trowbridge  654 

Crankidoxology Wallace  Irwin  688 

Desolation Tom  Masson  686 

Desperate  Race,  A J-  F-  Kelley  742 

De  Stove  Pipe  Hole William  Henry  Drummond  774 

Economical  Pair,  The Carolyn  Wells  602 

Family  Horse,  The Frederick  A.  Cozzens  715 

Girl  from  Mercury,  The Herman  Knickerbocker  Viele  779 

Grand  Opera,  The Billy  Baxter  693 

Greco-Trojan  Game,  The Charles  F.  Johnson  595 

How  to  Know  the  Wild  Animals Carolyn  Wells  650 

How  We  Bought  a  Sewin'  Machine  and  Organ 

Josiah  Allen's  Wife  729 

I  Remember,  I  Remember Phcebe  Cary  652 

In  a  State  of  Sin Owen  Wister  696 

Loafer  and  the  Squire,  The Porte  Crayon  767 

Love  Sonnets  of  a  Husband,  The Maurice  Smiley  725 

Meditations  of  a  Mariner Wallace  Irwin  713 

Modern  Advantage,  A Charlotte  Becker  642 

Modern  Eclogue,  A Bliss  Carman  645 

My  Honey,  My  Love Joel  Chandler  Harris  691 

Ponchus  Pilut James  Whitcomb  Riley  624 

Praise-God  Barebones. .  .Ellen  Mackay  Hutchinson  Cortissoz  765 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Raggedy  Man,  The James  Whitcomb  Riley  643 

Shooting- Match,  The A.  B.  Longstreet  666 

Sonnet  of  the  Lovable  Lass  and  the  Plethoric  Dad 

J.  W.  Foley  723 

Story  of  the  Two  Friars Eugene  Field  588 

Two  Husbands,  The Carolyn  Wells  587 

Two  Pedestrians   The Carolyn  Wells  603 

Two  Prisoners,  The Carolyn  Wells  641 

Victory Tom  Masson  714 

Wolf  at  Susan's  Door,  The Anne  Warner  626 

COMPLETE  INDEX  AT  THE  END  OF  VOLUME  X. 


THE  BRIEFLESS  BARRISTER 

A  Ballad 

BY    JOHN    G.    SAXE 

An  attorney  was  taking  a  turn, 

In  shabby  habiliments  drest ; 
His  coat  it  was  shockingly  worn, 

And  the  rust  had  invested  his  vest. 

His  breeches  had  suffered  a  breach, 
His  linen  and  worsted  were  worse; 

He  had  scarce  a  whole  crown  in  his  hat, 
And  not  half  a  crown  in  his  purse. 

And  thus  as  he  wandered  along, 
A  cheerless  and  comfortless  elf, 

He  sought  for  relief  in  a  song, 

Or  complainingly  talked  to  himself : — 

"Unfortunate  man  that  I  am ! 

I've  never  a  client  but  grief : 
The  case  is,  I've  no  case  at  all, 

And  in  brief,  I've  ne'er  had  a  brief! 

"I've  waited  and  waited  in  vain, 
Expecting  an  'opening'  to  find, 

Where  an  honest  young  lawyer  might  gain 
Some  reward  for  toil  of  his  mind. 

"  'Tis  not  that  I'm  wanting  in  law, 

Or  lack  an  intelligent  face, 
That  others  have  cases  to  plead, 

While  I  have  to  plead  for  a  case. 
585 


THE    BRIEFLESS    BARRISTER 

"O,  how  can  a  modest  young  man 

E'er  hope  for  the  smallest  progression,— 

The  profession's  already  so  full 
Of  lawyers  so  full  of  profession !" 

While  thus  he  was  strolling  around, 

His  eye  accidentally  fell 
On  a  very  deep  hole  in  the  ground, 

And  he  sighed  to  himself,  "It  is  well !" 

To  curb  his  emotions,  he  sat 

On  the  curbstone  the  space  of  a  minute, 
Then  cried,  "Here's  an  opening  at  last !" 

And  in  less  than  a  jiffy  was  in  it ! 

Next  morning  twelve  citizens  came 

('Twas  the  coroner  bade  them  attend), 

To  the  end  that  it  might  be  determined 
How  the  man  had  determined  his  end ! 


a 


The  man  was  a  lawyer,  I  hear," 
Quoth  the  foreman  who  sat  on  the  corse. 
"A  lawyer?  Alas!"  said  another, 
"Undoubtedly  died  of  remorse !" 

A  third  said,  "He  knew  the  deceased, 
An  attorney  well  versed  in  the  laws, 

And  as  to  the  cause  of  his  death, 

'Twas  no  doubt  for  the  want  of  a  cause." 

The  jury  decided  at  length, 

After  solemnly  weighing  the  matter, 
That  the  lawyer  was  drowntfed,  because 

He  could  not  keep  his  head  above  water ! 
586 


THE  TWO  HUSBANDS 

BY    CAROLYN    WELLS 

Once  on  a  Time  there  were  Two  Men,  each  of  whom 
married  the  Woman  of  his  Choice.  One  Man  devoted  all 
his  Energies  to  Getting  Rich. 

He  was  so  absorbed  in  Acquiring  Wealth  that  he 
Worked  Night  and  Day  to  Accomplish  his  End. 

By  this  Means  he  lost  his  Health,  he  became  a  Nervous 
Wreck,  and  was  so  Irritable  and  Irascible  that  his  Wife 
Ceased  to  live  with  him  and  Returned  to  her  Parents' 
House. 

The  Other  Man  made  no  Efforts  to  Earn  Money,  and 
after  he  had  Spent  his  own  and  his  Wife's  Fortunes, 
Poverty  Stared  them  in  the  Face. 

Although  his  Wife  had  loved  him  Fondly,  she  could 
not  Continue  her  affection  toward  One  who  could  not 
Support  her,  so  she  left  him  and  Returned  to  her  Child- 
hood's Home. 

morals : 

This  Fable  teaches  that  the  Love  of  Money  is  the  Root 
of  All  Evil,  and  that  When  Poverty  Comes  In  At  the 
Door,  Loves  Flies  Out  Of  the  Window. 


587 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  TWO  FRIARS 

BY    EUGENE   FIELD 

It  befell  in  the  year  1662,  in  which  same  year  were 
many  witchcrafts  and  sorceries,  such  as  never  before  had 
been  seen  and  the  like  of  which  will  never  again,  by  grace 
of  Heaven,  afflict  mankind — in  this  year  it  befell  that  the 
devil  came  upon  earth  to  tempt  an  holy  friar,  named 
Friar  Gonsol,  being  strictly  minded  to  win  that  righteous 
vessel  of  piety  unto  his  evil  pleasance. 

Now  wit  you  well  that  this  friar  had  grievously  of- 
fended the  devil,  for  of  all  men  then  on  earth  there  was 
none  more  holier  than  he  nor  none  surer  to  speak  and  to 
do  sweet  charity  unto  all  his  fellows  in  every  place.  There- 
fore it  was  that  the  devil  was  sore  wroth  at  the  Friar 
Gonsol,  being  mightily  plagued  not  only  by  his  teachings 
and  his  preachings,  but  also  by  the  pious  works  which  he 
continually  did  do.  Right  truly  the  devil  knew  that  by 
no  common  temptations  was  this  friar  to  be  moved,  for 
the  which  reason  did  the  devil  seek  in  dark  and  troublous 
cogitations  to  bethink  him  of  some  new  instrument  where- 
with he  might  bedazzle  the  eyes  and  ensnare  the  under- 
standing of  the  holy  man.  On  a  sudden  it  came  unto  the 
fiend  that  by  no  corporeal  allurement  would  he  be  able 
to  achieve  his  miserable  end,  for  that  by  reason  of  an 
abstemious  life  and  a  frugal  diet  the  Friar  Gonsol  had 
weaned  his  body  from  those  frailties  and  lusts  to  which 
human  flesh  is  by  nature  of  the  old  Adam  within  it  dis- 

588 


EUGENE    FIELD 

posed,  and  by  long-continued  vigils  and  by  earnest  de- 
votion and  by  godly  contemplations  and  by  divers 
proper  studies  had  fixed  his  mind  and  his  soul  with  ex- 
ceeding steadfastness  upon  things  unto  his  eternal  spirit- 
ual welfare  appertaining.  Therefore  it  beliked  the  devil 
to  devise  and  to  compound  a  certain  little  booke  of 
mighty  curious  craft,  wherewith  he  might  be  like  to  please 
the  Friar  Gonsol  and,  in  the  end,  to  ensnare  him  in  his  im- 
pious toils.  Now  this  was  the  way  of  the  devil's  thinking, 
to  wit :  This  friar  shall  suspect  no  evil  in  the  booke,  since 
never  before  hath  the  devil  tempted  mankind  with  such 
an  instrument,  the  common  things  wherewith  the  devil 
tempteth  man  being  (as  all  histories  show  and  all  theolo- 
gies teach)  fruit  and  women  and  other  like  things  pleas- 
ing to  the  gross  and  perishable  senses.  Therefore,  ar- 
gueth  the  devil,  when  I  shall  tempt  this  friar  with  a  booke 
he  shall  be  taken  off  his  guard  and  shall  not  know  it  to  be 
a  temptation.  And  thereat  was  the  devil  exceeding  merry 
and  he  did  laugh  full  merrily. 

Now  presently  came  this  thing  of  evil  unto  the  friar  in 
the  guise  of  another  friar  and  made  a  proper  low  obei- 
sance unto  the  same.  But  the  Friar  Gonsol  was  not 
blinded  to  the  craft  of  the  devil,  for  from  under  the  cloak 
and  hood  that  he  wore  there  did  issue  the  smell  of  sul- 
phur and  of  brimstone  which  alone  the  devil  hath. 

"Beshrew  me,"  quoth  the  Friar  Gonsol,  "if  the  odour 
in  my  nostrils  be  spikenard  and  not  the  fumes  of  the  bot- 
tomless pit!" 

"Nay,  sweet  friar,"  spake  the  devil  full  courteously, 
"the  fragrance  thou  perceivest  is  of  frankincense  and 
myrrh,  for  I  am  of  holy  orders  and  I  have  brought  thee  a 
righteous  booke,  delectable  to  look  upon  and  profitable 
unto  the.  reading." 

589 


THE    STORY    OF    THE    TWO    FRIARS 

Then  were  the  eyes  of  that  Friar  Gonsol  full  of  bright 
sparklings  and  his  heart  rejoiced  with  exceeding  joy,  for 
he  did  set  most  store,  next  to  his  spiritual  welfare,  by 
bookes  wherein  was  food  to  his  beneficial  devouring. 

"I  do  require  thee,"  quoth  the  friar,  "to  shew  me  that 
booke  that  I  may  know  the  name  thereof  and  discover 
whereof  it  treateth." 

Then  shewed  the  devil  the  booke  unto  the  friar,  and  the 
friar  saw  it  was  an  uncut  unique  of  incalculable  value ;  the! 
height  of  it  was  half  a  cubit  and  the  breadth  of  it  the 
fourth  part  of  a  cubit  and  the  thickness  of  it  five  barley- 
corns lacking  the  space  of  three  horsehairs.  This  booke 
contained,  within  its  divers  picturings,  symbols  and  simili- 
tudes wrought  with  incomparable  craft,  the  same  being 
such  as  in  human  vanity  are  called  proof  before  letters, 
and  imprinted  upon  India  paper;  also  the  booke  con- 
tained written  upon  its  pages,  divers  names  of  them  that 
had  possessed  it,  all  these  having  in  their  time  been 
mighty  and  illustrious  personages ;  but  what  seemed  most 
delectable  unto  the  friar  was  an  autographic  writing 
wherein  'twas  shewn  that  the  booke  sometime  had  been 
given  by  Venus  di  Medici  to  Apollos  at  Rhodes. 

When  therefore  the  Friar  Gonsol  saw  the  booke  how 
that  it  was  intituled  and  imprinted  and  adorned  and 
bounden,  he  knew  it  to  be  of  vast  worth  and  he  was 
mightily  moved  to  possess  it ;  therefore  he  required  of  the 
other  (that  was  the  devil)  that  he  give  unto  him  an  op-, 
tion  upon  the  same  for  the  space  of  seven  days  hence  or' 
until  such  a  time  as  he  could  inquire  concerning  the  booke 
in  Lowndes  and  other  such  like  authorities.  But  the  devil, 
smiling,  quoth :  "The  booke  shall  be  yours  without  price 
provided  only  you  shall  bind  yourself  to  do  me  a  service 
as  I  shall  hereafter  specify  and  direct." 

Now  when  the  Friar  Gonsol  heard  this  compact,  he 

590 


EUGENE    FIELD 

knew  for  a  verity  that  the  devil  was  indeed  the  devil,  and 
but  that  he  sorely  wanted  the  booke  he  would  have  driven 
that  impious  fiend  straightway  from  his  presence.  How- 
beit,  the  devil,  promising  to  visit  him  again  that  night,  de- 
parted, leaving  the  friar  exceeding  heavy  in  spirit,  for  he 
was  both  assotted  upon  the  booke  to  comprehend  it  and 
assotted  upon  the  devil  to  do  violence  unto  him. 

It  befell  that  in  his  doubtings  he  came  unto  the  Friar 
Francis,  another  holy  man  that  by  continual  fastings  and 
devotions  had  made  himself  an  ensample  of  piety  unto  all 
men,  and  to  this  sanctified  brother  did  the  Friar  Gonsol 
straightway  unfold  the  story  of  his  temptation  and  speak 
fully  of  the  wondrous  booke  and  of  its  divers  many  rich- 
nesses. 

When  that  he  had  heard  this  narration  the  Friar  Fran- 
cis made  answer  in  this  wise:  "Of  great  subtility  surei  / 
is  the  devil  that  he  hath  set  this  snare  for  thy  feet.  Have 
a  care,  my  brother,  that  thou  fallest  not  into  the  pit  which 
he  hath  digged  for  thee!  Happy  art  thou  to  have  come 
to  me  with  this  thing,  elsewise  a  great  mischief  might 
have  befallen  thee.  Now  listen  to  my  words  and  do  as  I 
counsel  thee.  Have  no  more  to  do  with  this  devil ;  send 
him  to  me,  or  appoint  with  him  another  meeting  and  I  will 
go  in  thy  stead." 

"Nay,  nay,"  cried  the  Friar  Gonsol,  "the  saints  fore- 
fend  from  thee  the  evil  temptation  provided  for  my  espe- 
cial proving!  I  should  have  been  reckoned  a  weak  and 
coward  vessel  were  I  to  send  thee  in  my  stead  to  bear  the 
mortifications  designed  for  the  trying  of  my  virtues." 

"But  thou  art  a  younger  brother  than  I,"  reasoned  the 
Friar  Francis  softly;  "and,  firm  though  thy  resolution 
may  be  now,  thou  art  more  like  than  I  to  be  wheedled 
and  bedazzled  by  these  diabolical  wiles  and  artifices.  So 
let  me  know  where  this  devil  abideth  with  the  booke;  I 

59i 


THE    STORY    OF    THE    TWO    FRIARS 

burn  to  meet  him  and  to  wrest  his  treasure  from  his  im- 
pious possession." 

But  the  Friar  Gonsol  shook  his  head  and  would  not 
hear  unto  this  vicarious  sacrifice  whereon  the  good  Friar 
Francis  had  set  his  heart. 

"Ah,  I  see  that  thou  hast  little  faith  in  my  strength  to 
combat  the  fiend,"  quoth  the  Friar  Francis  reproachfully. 
"Thy  trust  in  me  should  be  greater,  for  I  have  done  thee 
full  many  a  kindly  office ;  or,  now  I  do  bethink  me,  thou 
art  assotted  on  the  booke !  Unhappy  brother,  can  it  be 
that  thou  dost  covet  this  vain  toy,  this  frivolous  bauble, 
that  thou  wouldst  seek  the  devil's  companionship  anon 
to  compound  with  Beelzelub?  I  charge  thee,  Brother 
Gonsol,  open  thine  eyes  and  see  in  what  a  slippery  place 
thou  standest." 

Now  by  these  argumentations  was  the  Friar  Gonsol 
mightily  confounded,  and  he  knew  not  what  to  do. 

"Come,  now,  hesitate  no  longer,"  quoth  the  Friar  Fran- 
cis, "but  tell  me  where  that  devil  may  be  found — I  burn  to 
see  and  to  comprehend  the  booke — not  that  I  care  for  the 
booke,  but  that  I  am  grievously  tormented  to  do  that  devil 
a  sore  despight !" 

"Odds  boddikins,"  quoth  the  other  friar,  "me-seemeth 
that  the  booke  inciteth  thee  more  than  the  devil." 

"Thou  speakest  wrongly,"  cried  the  Friar  Francis. 
"Thou  mistakest  pious  zeal  for  sinful  selfishness.  Full 
wroth  am  I  to  hear  how  that  this  devil  walketh  to  and 
fro,  using  a  sweet  and  precious  booke  for  the  temptation 
of  holy  men.  Shall  so  righteous  an  instrument  be  em- 
ployed by  the  prince  of  heretics  to  so  unrighteous  an  end  ?" 

"Thou  sayest  wisely,"  quoth  the  Friar  Gonsol,  "and  thy 
words  convince  me  that  a  battaile  must  be  made  with  this 
devil  for  that  booke.  So  now  I  shall  go  to  encounter  the 
fiend !" 

592 


EUGENE    FIELD 

"Then  by  the  saints  I  shall  go  with  thee!"  cried  the 
Friar  Francis,  and  he  gathered  his  gown  about  his  loins 
right  briskly. 

But  when  the  Friar  Gonsol  saw  this  he  made  great  haste 
to  go  alone,  and  he  ran  out  of  the  door  full  swiftly  and 
fared  him  where  the  devil  had  appointed  an  appointment 
with  him.  Now  wit  you  well  that  the  Friar  Francis  did 
follow  close  upon  his  heels,  for  though  his  legs  were  not 
so  long  he  was  a  mighty  runner  and  he  was  right  sound 
of  wind.  Therefore  was  it  a  pleasant  sight  to  see  these 
holy  men  vying  with  one  another  to  do  battle  with  the 
devil,  and  much  it  repenteth  me  that  there  be  some  ribald 
heretics  that  maintain  full  enviously  that  these  two  saintly 
friars  did  so  run  not  for  the  devil  that  they  might  belabor 
him,  but  for  the  booke  that  they  might  possess  it. 

It  fortuned  that  the  devil  was  already  come  to  the  place 
where  he  had  appointed  the  appointment,  and  in  his  hand 
he  had  the  booke  aforesaid.  Much  marveled  he  when  that 
he  beheld  the  two  friars  faring  thence. 

"I  adjure  thee,  thou  devil,"  said  the  Friar  Gonsol  from 
afar  off,  "I  adjure  thee  give  me  that  booke  else  I  will  take 
thee  by  thy  horns  and  hoofs  and  drub  thy  ribs  together !" 

"Heed  him  not,  thou  devil,"  said  the  Friar  Francis, 
"for  it  is  I  that  am  coming  to  wrestle  with  thee  and  to 
overcome  thee  for  that  booke !" 

With  such  words  and  many  more  the  two  holy  friars 
bore  down  upon  the  devil;  but  the  devil  thinking  verily 
that  he  was  about  to  be  beset  by  the  whole  church  mili- 
tant stayed  not  for  their  coming,  but  presently  departed 
out  of  sight  and  bore  the  book  with  him. 

Now  many  people  at  that  time  saw  the  devil  fleeing  be- 
fore the  two  friars,  so  that,  esteeming  it  to  be  a  sign  of 
special  grace,  these  people  did  ever  thereafter  acknowl- 
edge the  friars  to  be  saints,  and  unto  this  day  you  shall 

VoL  * — "  ** ''' 


THE    STORY    OF    THE    TWO    FRIARS 

hear  of  St.  Gonsol  and  St.  Francis.  Unto  this  day,  too, 
doth  the  devil,  with  that  same  booke  wherewith  he 
tempted  the  friar  of  old,  beset  and  ensnare  men  of  every 
age  and  in  all  places.  Against  which  devil  may  Heaven 
fortify  us  to  do  battle  speedily  and  with  successful  issu- 
ance. 


594 


THE  GRECO-TROJAN  GAME 

BY    CHARLES   F.    JOHNSON 

First  on  the  ground  appeared  the  god-like  Trojan  Eleven, 
Shining  in  purple  and  black,  with  tight  and  well-fitting 

sweaters, 
Woven  by  Andromache  in  the  well-ordered  palace  of 

Priam. 
After  them  came,  in  goodly  array,  the  players  of  Hellas, 
Skilled  in  kicking  and  blocking  and  tackling  and  fooling 

the  umpire. 
All  advanced  on  the  field,  marked  off  with  white  alabaster, 
Level  and  square  and  true,  at  the  ends  two  goal  posts 

erected, 
Richly  adorned  with  silver  and  gold  and  carved  at  the 

corners, 
Bearing  a  legend  which  read,  "Don't  talk  back  at  the  um- 
pire"— 
Rule  first  given  by  Zeus,  for  the  guidance  of  voluble  mor- 
tals. 
All  the  rules  of  the  game  were  deeply  cut  in  the  crossbars, 
So  that  the  players  might  know  exactly  how  to  evade 
them. 

On  one  side  of  the  field  were  ranged  the  Trojan  specta- 
tors, 

Yelling  in  composite  language  their  ancient  Phrygian 
war-cry ; 

"Ho-hay-toe,      Toii-tais-tou,      Ton-tain-to;     Boomerah 
Boomerah,  Trojans!" 

595 


THE    GRECO-TROJAN    GAME 

And  on  the  other,  the  Greeks,  fair-haired,  and  ready  to 

halloo, 
If  occasion  should  offer  and  Zeus  should  grant  them  a 

touch-down, 
Breck-ek  kek-kek-koax,  Anax  andron,  Agamemnon!" 

First  they  agreed  on  an  umpire,  the  silver-tongued  Nestor. 

Long  years  ago  he  played  end-rush  on  the  Argive  eleven ; 

He  was  admitted  by  all  to  be  an  excellent  umpire 

Save  for  the  habit  he  had  of  making  public  addresses, 

Tedious,  long-winded  and  dull,  and  full  of  minute  ex- 
planations, 

How  they  used  to  play  in  the  days  when  Cadmus  was  half- 
back, 

Or  how  Hermes  could  dodge,  and  Ares  and  Phcebus  could 
tackle ; 

Couched  in  rhythmical  language  but  not  one  whit  to  the 
purpose. 

On  his  white  hair  they  carefully  placed  the  sacred  tiara, 

Worn  by  the  foot-ball  umpires  of  old  as  a  badge  of  their 
office, 

Also  to  save  their  heads,  in  case  the  players  should  slug 
them. 

Then  they  gave  him  a  spear  wherewith  to  enforce  his  de- 
cisions, 

And  to  stick  in  the  ground  to  mark  the  place  to  line  up  to. 

He  advanced  to  the  thirty-yard  line  and  began  an  oration  : 

"Listen,  Trojans  and  Greeks !  For  thirty-five  seasons, 
"I  played  foot-ball  in  Greece  with  Peleus  for  half-back 

and  captain. 
"Those  were  the  days  of  old  when  men  played  the  game 

as  they'd  orter. 
"Once,  I  remember,  /Eacus,  the  god-like  son  of  Poseidon, 

596 


CHARLES    F.    JOHNSON 

"Kicked  the  ball  from  a  drop,  clean  over  the  city  of  Argos. 
'That  was  the  game  when  Peleus,  our  captain,  lost  all  his 

front  teeth ; 
"Little  we  cared  for  teeth  or  eyes  when  once  we  were 

warmed  up. 
"Why,  I  remember  that  ^Eacus  ran  so  that  no  one  could 

see  him, 
"There  was  just  a  long  hole  in  the  air  and  a  man  at  the 

end  on't. 
"Hercules  umpired  that  game,  and  I  noticed  there  wasn't 

much  back-talk." 

Him  interrupting,  sternly  addressed  the  King  Agamem- 
non: 
"Cease,  old  man;  come  off  your  antediluvian  boasting; 
"Doubtless  our  grandpas  could  all  play  the  game  as  well 

as  they  knew  how. 
"They  are  all  dead,  and  have  long  lined  up  in  the  fields  of 

elysium ; 
"If  they  were  here  we  would  wipe  up  the  ground  with  the 

rusty  old  duffers. 
"You  call  the  game,  and  keep  your  eye  fixed  on  the  hel- 

meted  Hector. 
"He'll  play  off-side  all  the  while,  if  he  thinks  the  umpire 

don't  see  him!" 
Then  the  old  man  threw  the  lots,  but  sore  was  his  heart 

in  his  bosom. 
"Troy  has  the  kick-off,"  he  said,  "the  ball  is  yours,  noble 

Hector." 
Then  he  gave  him  the  ball,  a  prolate  spheroid  of  leather. 
Much  like  the  world  in  its  shape,  if  the  world  were  length- 
ened, not  flattened, 
Covered  with  well-sewed  leather,  the  well-seasoned  hide 

of  a  bison, 

597 


THE    GRECO-TROJAN    GAME 

Killed  by  Lakon,  the  hunter,  ere  bisons  were  extermi- 
nated. 
On  it  was  painted  a  battle,  a  market,  a  piece  of  the  ocean, 
Horses  and  cows  and  nymphs  and  things  too  many  to 
mention. 


Then  the  heroes  peeled  off  their  sweaters  and  put  on  their 
nose-guards, 

•Also  the  fiendish  expressions  the  great  occasion  de- 
manded. 

Ajax  stood  on  the  right ;  in  the  center  the  great  Agamem- 
non; 

Diomed  crouched  on  the  left,  the  god-like  rusher  and 
tackier, 

Crouched  as  a  panther  crouches,  if  sculptors  do  justice  to 
panthers. 

Crafty  Ulysses  played  back,  for  none  of  the  Trojans  could 
pass  him, 

All  the  best  Greeks  were  in  line,  but  Podas  Okus  Achil- 
leus, 

Who  though  an  excellent  kicker  stayed  all  day  in  his  sec- 
tion. 


Hector  dribbled  the  ball,  then  seized  it  and  putting  his 
head  down, 

And,  as  a  lion  carries  a  lamb  and  jumps  over  fences — 

'Dodging  this  way  and  that  the  shepherds  who  wish  to  re- 
monstrate— 

So  did  the  son  of  Priam  carry  the  ball  through  the  rush 
line, 

Till  he  was  tackled  fair  by  the  full-back,  the  crafty 
Ulysses. 

Even  then  he  carried  the  ball  and  the  son  of  Laertes 

598 


CHARLES    F.    JOHNSON 

Full  five  yards  till  they  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  deep  in- 
dentation 

Where  one  might  hide  three  men  so  that  no  man  could  see 
them — 

Men  of  the  present  day,  degenerate  sons  of  the  heroes — 

Now,  when  Pallas  Athene  discovered  the  Greeks  would  be 

beaten, 
She  slid  down  from  the  steep  of  Olympus  upon  a  tobog- 
gan. 
Sudden  she  came  before  crafty  Ulysses  in  guise  like  a 

maiden ; 
Not  that  she  thought  to  fool  him,  but  since  Olympian 

fashion 
Made  the  form  of  a  woman  good  form  for  a  goddess' 

assumption. 
She  then  spoke  to  him  quickly,  and  said,   "O  son  of 

Laertes, 
Seize  thou  the  ball ;  I  will  pass  it  to  thee  and  trip  up  the 

Trojan." 
Her  replying,  slowly  re-worded  the  son  of  Laertes — 
"That  will  I  do,  O  goddess  divine,  for  he  can  outrun 


me." 


Then  when  the  ball  was  in  play,  she  cast  thick  darkness 
around  it. 

Also  around  Ulysses  she  poured  invisible  darkness. 

Under  this  cover,  taking  the  ball  he  passed  down  the  mid- 
dle, 

Silent  and  swift,  unseen,  unnoticed,  unblocked,  and  un- 
tackled. 

Meanwhile  she  piled  the  Greeks  and  the  Trojans  in  con- 
glomeration, 

Much  like  a  tangle  of  pine-trees  where  lightning  has  fre- 
quently fallen, 

599 


THE    GRECO-TROJAN    GAME 

Or  like  a  basket  of  lobsters  and  crabs  which  the  provident 
housewife 

Dumps  on  the  kitchen  floor  and  vainly  endeavors  to  count 
them, 

So  seemed  the  legs  and  the  arms  and  the  heads  of  the 
twenty-one  players. 

Sudden  a  shout  arose,  for  under  the  crossbar,  Ulysses, 

Visible,  sat  on  the  ball,  quietly  making  a  touch-down ; 

On  the  tip  of  his  nose  were  his  thumb  and  fingers  ex- 
tended, 

Curved  and  vibrating  slow  in  the  sign  of  the  blameless 
Egyptians. 

Violent  language  came  to  the  lips  of  the  helmeted  Hector, 

Under  his  breath  he  murmured  a  few  familiar  quotations, 

Scraps   of   Phrygian   folk-lore   about   the   kingdom    of 
Hades ; 

Then  he  called  loud  as  a  trumpet,  "I  claim  foul,  Mr.  Um- 
pire!" 

"Touch-down  for  Greece,"  said  Hector;  "  'twixt  you  and 
me  and  the  goal-post 
I  lost  sight  of  the  ball  in  a  very  singular  manner." 


u 


Then  they  carried  the  sphere  back  to  the  twenty-five  yard 
line, 

Prone  on  the  ground  lay  a  Greek,  the  leather  was  poised  in 
his  fingers — 

Thrice  Agamemnon  adjusted  the  sphere  with  delibera- 
tion; 

Then  he  drew  back  as  a  ram  draws  back  for  deadly  en- 
counter. 

Then  he  tripped  lightly  ahead,  and  brought  his  sandal  in 
contact 

Right  at  the  point;  straight  flew  the  ball  right  over  the 
crossbar, 

600 


CHARLES    F.    JOHNSON 

While  like  the  cries  of  pygmies  and  cranes  the  race-yell  re- 
sounded : 
"Breck-ek  kek-kek-koax,  Anax  andron,  Agamemnon!'* 


601 


THE  ECONOMICAL  PAIR 

BY    CAROLYN    WELLS 

Once  on  a  Time  there  was  a  Man  and  his  Wife  who 
had  Different  Ideas  concerning  Family  Expenditures. 

The  Man  said :  "I  am  Exceedingly  Economical ;  al- 
though I  spend  Small  Sums  here  and  there  for  Cigars, 
Wines,  Theater  Tickets,  and  Little  Dinners,  yet  I  do  not 
buy  me  a  Yacht  or  a  Villa  at  Newport." 

But  even  with  these  Praiseworthy  Principles,  it  soon 
Came  About  that  the  Man  was  Bankrupt. 

Whereupon  he  Reproached  his  Wife,  who  Answered 
his  Accusations  with  Surprise. 

"Me !  My  dear !"  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  I  am  Exceed- 
ingly Economical.  True,  I  Occasionally  buy  me  a  Set  of 
Sables  or  a  Diamond  Tiara,  but  I  am  Scrupulously  Care- 
ful about  Small  Sums;  I  Diligently  unknot  all  Strings 
that  come  around  Parcels,  and  Save  Them,  and  I  use  the 
Backs  of  old  Envelopes  for  Scribbling- Paper.  Yet,  some- 
how, my  Bank- Account  is  also  Exhausted." 

morals  : 

This  Fable  teaches  to  Takes  Care  of  the  Pence  and  the 
Pounds  will  Take  Care  of  Themselves,  and  that  we 
Should  Not  Be  Penny-Wise  and  Pound-Foolish. 


602 


THE  TWO  PEDESTRIANS 

BY    CAROLYN    WELLS 

Once  on  a  time  there  were  two  Men,  one  of  whom  was 
a  Good  Alan  and  the  other  a  Rogue. 

The  Good  Man  one  day  saw  a  Wretched  Drunkard  en- 
deavoring- to  find  his  way  Home. 

Being  most  kind-hearted,  the  Good  Man  assisted  the 
Wretched  Drunkard  to  his  feet  and  accompanied  him 
along  the  Highway  toward  his  Home. 

The  Good  Man  held  fast  the  arm  of  the  Wretched 
Drunkard,  and  the  result  of  this  was  that  when  the 
Wretched  Drunkard  lurched  giddily  the  Good  Man  per- 
force lurched  too. 

Whereupon,  as  the  Passing  Populace  saw  the  pair,  they 
said:  "Aha!  Another  good  man  gone  wrong,"  and  they 
Wisely  Wagged  their  Heads. 

Now  the  Bad  Man  of  this  tale,  being  withal  of  a 
shrewd  and  canny  Nature,  stood  often  on  a  street  cor- 
ner, and  engaged  in  grave  conversation  with  the  Mag- 
nates of  the  town. 

To  be  sure,  the  Magnates  shook  him  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, but  in  no  wise  discouraged  he  cheerfully  sauntered 
up  to  another  Magnate.  Thus  did  he  gain  a  Reputation 
of  being  a  friend  of  the  Great. 

morals : 

This  Fable  teaches  us  that  A  Man  is  known  by  ths 
Company  he  Keeps,  and  that  We  Must  not  Judge  by  Ap^ 
pearances. 

603 


A  COMPLAINT  OF  FRIENDS 

BY   GAIL    HAMILTON 

If  things  would  not  run  into  each  other  so,  it  would  be 
a  thousand  times  easier  and  a  million  times  pleasanter  to 
get  on  in  the  world.  Let  the  sheepiness  be  set  on  one 
side  and  the  goatiness  on  the  other,  and  immediately  you 
know  where  you  are.  It  is  not  necessary  to  ask  that  there 
be  any  increase  of  the  one  or  any  diminution  of  the  other, 
but  only  that  each  shall  preempt  its  own  territory  and 
stay  there.  Milk  is  good,  and  water  is  good,  but  don't 
set  the  milk-pail  under  the  pump.  Pleasure  softens  pain, 
but  pain  embitters  pleasure;  and  who  would  not  rather 
have  his  happiness  concentrated  into  one  memorable  day, 
that  shall  gleam  and  glow  through  a  lifetime,  than  have 
it  spread  out  over  a  dozen  comfortable,  commonplace, 
humdrum  forenoons  and  afternoons,  each  one  as  like  the 
others  as  two  peas  in  a  pod?  Since  the  law  of  compensa- 
tion obtains,  I  suppose  it  is  the  best  law  for  us ;  but  if  it 
had  been  left  with  me,  I  should  have  made  the  clever 
people  rich  and  handsome,  and  left  poverty  and  ugliness 
to  the  stupid  people;  because — don't  you  see? — the  stupid 
people  won't  know  they  are  ugly,  and  won't  care  if  they 
are  poor,  but  the  clever  people  will  be  hampered  and  tor- 
tured. I  would  have  given  the  good  wives  to  the  good 
husbands,  and  made  drunken  men  marry  drunken  wom- 
en. Then  there  would  have  been  one  family  exquisitely 
happy  instead  of  two  struggling  against  misery.  I  would 
have  made  the  rose  stem  downy,  and  put  all  the  thorns 

604 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

on  the  thistles.  I  would  have  gouged  out  the  jewel  from 
the  toad's  head,  and  given  the  peacock  the  nightingale's 
voice,  and  not  set  everything  so  at  half  and  half. 

But  that  is  the  way  it  is.  We  find  the  world  made  to 
our  hand.  The  wise  men  marry  the  foolish  virgins,  and 
the  splendid  virgins  marry  dolts,  and  matters  in  general 
are  so  mixed  up,  that  the  choice  lies  between  nice  things 
about  spoiled,  and  vile  things  that  are  not  so  bad  after  all, 
and  it  is  hard  to  tell  sometimes  which  you  like  the  best,  or 
which  you  loathe  least. 

I  expect  to  lose  every  friend  I  have  in  the  world  by 
the  publication  of  this  paper — except  the  dunces  who  are 
impaled  in  it.  They  will  never  read  it,  and  if  they  do,  will 
never  suspect  I  mean  them;  while  the  sensible  and  true 
friends,  who  do  me  good  and  not  evil  all  the  days  of  their 
lives,  will  think  I  am  driving  at  their  noble  hearts,  and 
will  at  once  fall  off  and  leave  me  inconsolable.  Still  I 
am  going  to  write  it.  You  must  open  the  safety-valve 
once  in  a  while,  even  if  the  steam  does  whiz  and  shriek, 
or  there  will  be  an  explosion,  which  is  fatal,  while  the 
whizzing  and  shrieking  are  only  disagreeable. 

Doubtless  friendship  has  its  advantages  and  its  pleas- 
ures; doubtless  hostility  has  its  isolations  and  its  re- 
venges ;  still,  if  called  upon  to  choose  once  for  all  between 
friends  and  foes,  I  think,  on  the  whole,  I  should  cast  my 
vote  for  the  foes.  Twenty  enemies  will  not  do  you  the 
mischief  of  one  friend.  Enemies  you  always  know  where 
to  find.  They  are  in  fair  and  square  perpetual  hostility, 
and  you  keep  your  armor  on  and  your  sentinels  posted ; 
but  with  friends  you  are  inveigled  into  a  false  security, 
and,  before  you  know  it,  your  honor,  your  modesty,  your 
delicacy  are  scudding  before  the  gales.  Moreover,  with 
your  friend  you  can  never  make  reprisals.  If  your  enemy 
attacks  you,  you  can  always  strike  back  and  hit  hard. 

605 


A    COMPLAINT    OF    FRIENDS 

You  are  expected  to  defend  yourself  against  him  to  the 
top  of  your  bent.  He  is  your  legal  opponent  in  honorable 
warfare.  You  can  pour  hot-shot  into  him  with  murder- 
ous vigor ;  and  the  more  he  writhes,  the  better  you  feel. 
In  fact,  it  is  rather  refreshing  to  measure  swords  once  in 
a  while  with  such  a  one.  You  like  to  exert  your  power 
and  keep  yourself  in  practice.  You  do  not  rejoice  so 
much  in  overcoming  your  enemy  as  in  overcoming.  If/ 
a  marble  statue  could  show  fight  you  would  just  as  soon 
fight  it;  but  as  it  can  not,  you  take  something  that  can, 
and  something,  besides,  that  has  had  the  temerity  to  at- 
tack you,  and  so  has  made  a  lawful  target  of  itself.  But 
against  your  friend  your  hands  are  tied.  He  has  injured 
you.  He  has  disgusted  you.  He  has  infuriated  you.  But 
it  was  most  Christianly  done.  You  can  not  hurl  a  thun- 
derbolt, or  pull  a  trigger,  or  lisp  a  syllable  against  those 
amiable  monsters  who,  with  tenderest  fingers,  are  stick- 
ing pins  all  over  you.  So  you  shut  fast  the  doors  of  your 
lips,  and  inwardly  sigh  for  a  good,  stout,  brawny,  malig- 
nant foe,  who,  under  any  and  every  circumstance,  will 
design  you  harm,  and  on  whom  you  can  lavish  your  lusty 
blows  with  a  hearty  will  and  a  clear  conscience. 

Your  enemy  keeps  clear  of  you.  He  neither  grants  nor 
claims  favors.  He  awards  you  your  rights, — no  more, 
no  less, — and  demands  the  same  from  you.  Conse- 
quently there  is  no  friction.  Your  friend,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  continually  getting  himself  tangled  up  with  you* 
"because  he  is  your  friend."  I  have  heard  that  Shelley 
was  never  better  pleased  than  when  his  associates  made 
free  with  his  coats,  boots,  and  hats  for  their  own  use, 
and  that  he  appropriated  their  property  in  the  same  way. 
Shelley  was  a  poet,  and  perhaps  idealized  his  friends.  He 
saw  them,  probably,  in  a  state  of  pure  intellect.  I  am  not 
a  poet ;  I  look  at  people  in  the  concrete.    The  most  obvi- 

606 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

ous  thing  about  my  friends  is  their  avoirdupois ;  and  I 
prefer  that  they  should  wear  their  own  cloaks  and  suffer 
me  to  wear  mine.  There  is  no  neck  in  the  world  that  I 
want  my  collar  to  span  except  my  own.  It  is  very  exas- 
perating to  me  to  go  to  my  bookcase  and  miss  a  book  of 
which  I  am  in  immediate  and  pressing  need,  because  an 
intimate  friend  has  carried  it  off  without  asking  leave,  on 
the  score  of  his  intimacy.  I  have  not,  and  do*  not  wish  to 
have,  any  alliance  that  shall  abrogate  the  eighth  com- 
mandment. A  great  mistake  is  lying  round  loose  here- 
abouts,— a  mistake  fatal  to  many  friendships  that  did  run 
well.  The  common  fallacy  is  that  intimacy  dispenses 
with  the  necessity  of  politeness.  The  truth  is  just  the 
opposite  of  this.  The  more  points  of  contact  there  are, 
the  more  danger  of  friction  there  is,  and  the  more  care- 
fully should  people  guard  against  it.  If  you  see  a  man 
only  once  a  month,  it  is  not  of  so  vital  importance  that 
you  do  not  trench  on  his  rights,  tastes,  or  whims.  He 
can  bear  to  be  crossed  or  annoyed  occasionally.  If  he 
does  not  have  a  very  high  regard  for  you,  it  is  compara- 
tively unimportant,  because  your  paths  are  generally  so 
diverse.  But  you  and  the  man  with  whom  you  dine  every 
day  have  it  in  your  power  to  make  each  other  exceedingly 
uncomfortable.  A  very  little  dropping  will  wear  away 
rock,  if  it  only  keep  at  it.  The  thing  that  you  would 
not  think  of,  if  it  occurred  only  twice  a  year,  becomes  an 
, intolerable  burden  when  it  happens  twice  a  day.  This  is 
where  husbands  and  wives  run  aground.  They  take  too 
much  for  granted.  If  they  would  but  see  that  they  have 
something  to  gain,  something  to  save,  as  well  as  some- 
thing to  enjoy,  it  would  be  better  for  them;  but  they  pro- 
ceed on  the  assumption  that  their  love  is  an  inexhaustible 
tank,  and  not  a  fountain  depending  for  its  supply  on  the 
stream  that  trickles  into  it.     So,  for  every  little  annoying 

607 


A    COMPLAINT    OF    FRIENDS 

habit,  or  weakness,  or  fault,  they  draw  on  the  tank,  with- 
out being  careful  to  keep  the  supply  open,  till  they  awake 
one  morning  to  find  the  pump  dry,  and,  instead  of  love,  at 
best,  nothing  but  a  cold  habit  of  complacence.  On  the 
contrary,  the  more  intimate  friends  become,  whether 
married  or  unmarried,  the  more  scrupulously  should  they 
strive  to  repress  in  themselves  everything  annoying,  and 
to  cherish  both  in  themselves  and  each  other  everything 
pleasing.  While  each  should  draw  on  his  love  to  neutral- 
ize the  faults  of  his  friend,  it  is  suicidal  to  draw  on  his 
friend's  love  to  neutralize  his  own  faults.  Love  should 
be  cumulative,  since  it  can  not  be  stationary.  If  it  does 
not  increase,  it  decreases.  Love,  like  confidence,  is  a 
plant  of  slow  growth,  and  of  most  exotic  fragility.  It 
must  be  constantly  and  tenderly  cherished.  Every  nox- 
ious and  foreign  element  must  be  carefully  removed  from 
it.  All  sunshine,  and  sweet  airs,  and  morning  dews,  and 
evening  showers  must  breathe  upon  it  perpetual  frag- 
rance, or  it  dies  into  a  hideous  and  repulsive  deformity, 
fit  only  to  be  cast  out  and  trodden  under  foot  of  men, 
while,  properly  cultivated,  it  is  a  Tree  of  Life. 

Your  enemy  keeps  clear  of  you,  not  only  in  business, 
but  in  society.  If  circumstances  thrust  him  into  contact 
with  you,  he  is  curt  and  centrifugal.  But  your  friend 
breaks  in  upon  your  "saintly  solitude"  with  perfect 
equanimity.  He  never  for  a  moment  harbors  a  suspicion 
that  he  can  intrude,  "because  he  is  your  friend."  So  he 
drops  in  on  his  way  to  the  office  to  chat  half  an  hour  over 
the  latest  news.  The  half-hour  isn't  much  in  itself.  If  it 
were  after  dinner,  you  wouldn't  mind  it ;  but  after  break- 
fast every  moment  "runs  itself  in  golden  sands,"  and  the 
break  in  your  time  crashes  a  worse  break  in  your  temper. 
"Are  you  busy?"  asks  the  considerate  wretch,  adding  in- 
sult to  injury.    What  can  you  do?    Say  yes,  and  wound 

608 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

his  self-love  forever?  But  he  has  a  wife  and  family. 
You  respect  their  feelings,  smile  and  smile,  and  are  vil- 
lain enough  to  be  civil  with  your  lips,  and  hide  the  poison 
of  asps  under  your  tongue,  till  you  have  a  chance  to  re- 
lieve your  o'ercharged  heart  by  shaking  your  fist  in  im- 
potent wrath  at  his  retreating  form.  You  will  receive  the 
reward  of  your  hypocrisy,  as  you  richly  deserve,  for  ten 
to  one  he  will  drop  in  again  when  he  comes  back  from  his 
office,  and  arrest  you  wandering  in  Dreamland  in  the 
beautiful  twilight.  Delighted  to  find  that  you  are  neither 
reading  nor  writing, — the  absurd  dolt!  as  if  a  man 
weren't  at  work  unless  he  be  wielding  a  sledge-hammer ! 
— he  will  preach  out,  and  prose  out,  and  twaddle  out  an- 
other hour  of  your  golden  eventide,  "because  he  is  your 
friend."  You  don't  care  whether  he  is  judge  or  jury, — 
whether  he  talks  sense  or  nonsense;  you  don't  want  him 
to  talk  at  all.  You  don't  want  him  there  anyway.  You 
want  to  be  alone.  If  you  don't,  why  are  you  sitting  there 
in  the  deepening  twilight?  If  you  wanted  him,  couldn't 
you  send  for  him  ?  Why  don't  you  go  out  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  are  music  and  lights,  and  gay  people? 
What  right  have  I  to  suppose,  that,  because  you  are  not 
using  your  eyes,  you  are  not  using  your  brain?  What 
right  have  I  to  set  myself  up  as  a  judge  of  the  value  pf 
your  time,  and  so  rob  you  of  perhaps  the  most  delicious 
hour  in  all  your  day,  on  pretense  that  it  is  of  no  use  to 
you  ? — take  a  pound  of  flesh  clean  out  pf  your  heart,  and 
trip  on  my  smiling  way  as  if  I  had  not  earned  the  gal- 
lows ? 

And  what  in  Heaven's  name  is  the  good  of  all  this 
ceaseless  talk?  To  what  purpose  are  you  wearied,  ex- 
hausted, dragged  out  and  out  to  the  very  extreme  of  tenu- 
ity? A  sprightly  badinage, — a  running  fire  of  nonsense 
for  half  an  hour, — a  tramp  over  unfamiliar  ground  with 


A    COMPLAINT    OF    FRIENDS 

a  familiar  guide, — a  discussion  of  something  with  some- 
body who  knows  all  about  it,  or  who,  not  knowing,  wants 
to  learn  from  you, — a  pleasant  interchange  of  common- 
places with  a  circle  of  friends  around  the  fire,  at  such 
hours  as  you  give  to  society :  all  this  is  not  only  tolerable, 
but  agreeable, — often  positively  delightful;  but  to  have 
an  indifferent  person,  on  no  score  but  that  of  friendship, 
break  into  your  sacred  presence,  and  suck  your  blood 
through  indefinite  cycles  of  time,  is  an  abomination.  If 
he  clatters  on  an  indifferent  subject,  you  can  do  well 
enough  for  fifteen  minutes,  buoyed  up  by  the  hope  that 
he  will  presently  have  a  fit,  or  be  sent  for,  or  come  to 
some  kind  of  an  end.  But  when  you  gradually  open  to 
the  conviction  that  vis  inertia  rules  the  hour,  and  the 
thing  which  has  been  is  that  which  shall  be,  you  wax 
listless;  your  chariot-wheels  drive  heavily;  your  end  of 
the  pole  drags  in  the  mud,  and  you  speedily  wallow  in 
unmitigated  disgust.  If  he  broaches  a  subject  on  which 
you  have  a  real  and  deep  living  interest,  you  shrink  from 
unbosoming  yourself  to  him.  You  feel  that  it  would  be 
sacrilege.  He  feels  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  treads  over 
your  heart-strings  in  his  cowhide  brogans,  and  does 
not  see  that  they  are  not  whip-cords.  He  pokes  his  gold- 
headed  cane  in  among  your  treasures,  blind  to  the  fact 
that  you  are  clutching  both  arms  around  them,  that  no 
gleam  of  flashing  gold  may  reveal  their  whereabouts 
to  him.  You  draw  yourself  up  in  your  shell,  projecting 
a  monosyllabic  claw  occasionally  as  a  sign  of  continued 
vitality ;  but  the  pachyderm  does  not  withdraw,  and  you 
gradually  lower  into  an  indignation, — smothered,  fierce, 

intense. 

Why,  why,  why  will  people  inundate  their  unfortunate 
victims  with  such  "weak,  washy,  everlasting  floods?" 
Why  will  they  haul  everything  out  into  the  open  day? 

610 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

Why  will  they  make  the  Holy  of  Holies  common  and  un- 
clean ?  Why  will  they  be  so  ineffably  stupid  as  not  to  see 
that  there  is  that  which  speech  profanes  ?  Why  will  they 
lower  their  drag-nets  into  the  unfathomable  waters,  in 
the  vain  attempt  to  bring  up  your  pearls  and  gems,  whose 
luster  would  pale  to  ashes  in  the  garish  light,  whose  only 
sparkle  is  in  the  deep  sea-soundings?  Procul,  0  procul 
este,  prof  anil 

O,  the  matchless  power  of  silence!  There  are  words 
that  concentrate  in  themselves  the  glory  of  a  lifetime; 
but  there  is  a  silence  that  is  more  precious  than  they. 
Speech  ripples  over  the  surface  of  life,  but  silence  sinks 
into  its  depths.  Airy  pleasantnesses  bubble  up  in  airy, 
pleasant  words.  Weak  sorrows  quaver  out  their  shallow 
being,  and  are  not.  When  the  heart  is  cleft  to  its  core, 
there  is  no  speech  nor  language. 

Do  not  now,  Messrs.  Bores,  think  to  retrieve  your  char- 
acter by  coming  into  my  house  and  sitting  mute  for  two 
hours.  Heaven  forbid  that  your  blood  should  be  found 
on  my  skirts !  but  I  believe  I  shall  kill  you,  if  you  do.  The 
only  reason  why  I  have  not  laid  violent  hands  on  you 
heretofore  is  that  your  vapid  talk  has  operated  as  a  wire 
to  conduct  my  electricity  to  the  receptive  and  kindly 
earth;  but  if  you  intrude  upon  my  magnetisms  without 
any  such  life-preserver,  your  future  in  this  world  is  not 
worth  a  crossed  sixpence.  Your  silence  would  break  the 
reed  that  your  talk  but  bruised.  The  only  people  with! 
whom  it  is  a  joy  to  sit  silent  are  the  people  with  whom  it 
is  a  joy  to  talk.    Clear  out! 

Friendship  plays  the  mischief  in  the  false  ideas  of  con- 
stancy which  are  generated  and  cherished  in  its  name,  if 
not  by  its  agency.  Your  enemies  are  intense,  but  tempo- 
rary. Time  wears  off  the  edge  of  hostility.  It  is  the 
alembic  in  which  offenses  are  dissolved  into  thin  air,  and 

6n 


A    COMPLAINT    OF    FRIENDS 

a  calm  indifference  reigns  in  their  stead.  But  your 
friends  are  expected  to  be  a  permanent  arrangement. 
They  are  not  only  a  sore  evil,  but  of  long  continuance. 
Adhesiveness  seems  to  be  the  head  and  front,  the  bones 
and  the  blood,  of  their  creed.  It  is  not  the  direction  of 
the  quality,  but  the  quality  itself,  which  they  swear  by. 
Only  stick,  it  is  no  matter  what  you  stick  to.  Fall  out 
with  a  man,  and  you  can  kiss  and  be  friends  as  soon  as 
you  like;  the  recording  angel  will  set  it  down  on  the 
credit  side  of  his  books.  Fall  in,  and  you  are  expected 
to  stay  in,  ad  infinitum,  ad  nauseam.  No  matter  what 
combination  of  laws  got  you  there,  there  you  are,  and 
there  you  must  stay,  for  better,  for  worse,  till  merciful 
death  you  do  part, — or  you  are — "fickle."  You  find  a 
man  entertaining  for  an  hour,  a  week,  a  concert,  a  jour- 
ney, and  presto !  you  are  saddled  with  him  forever.  What 
preposterous  absurdity !  Do  but  look  at  it  calmly.  You 
are  thrown  into  contact  with  a  person,  and,  as  in  duty 
bound,  you  proceed  to  fathom  him :  for  every  man  is  a 
possible  revelation.  In  the  deeps  of  his  soul  there  may 
lie  unknown  worlds  for  you.  Consequently  you  proceed 
at  once  to  experiment  on  him.  It  takes  a  little  while  to  get 
your  tackle  in  order.  Then  the  line  begins  to  run  off  rap- 
idly, and  your  eager  soul  cries  out,  "Ah!  what  depth! 
What  perpetual  calmness  must  be  down  below !  What  rest 
is  here  for  all  my  tumult !  What  a  grand,  vast  nature  is 
this !"  Surely,  surely,  you  are  on  the  high  seas.  Surely, 
you  will  not  float  serenely  down  the  eternities!  But  by 
and  by  there  is  a  kink.  You  find  that,  though  the  line 
runs  off  so  fast,  it  does  not  go  down, — it  only  floats  out. 
A  current  has  caught  it  and  bears  it  on  horizontally.  It 
does  not  sink  plumb.  You  have  been  deceived.  Your 
grand  Pacific  Ocean  is  nothing  but  a  shallow  little  brook, 
that  you  can  ford  all  the  year  round,  if  it  does  not  utterly 

612 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

dry  up  in  the  summer  heats,  when  you  want  it  most ;  or, 
at  best,  it  is  a  fussy  little  tormenting  river,  that  won't 
and  can't  sail  a  sloop.     What  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it  ?    You  are  going  to  wind  up  your  lead  and  line,  shoul- 
der your  birch  canoe,  as  the  old  sea-kings  used,  and  thrid 
the  deep  forests,  and  scale  the  purple  hills,  till  you  come 
to  water  again,  when  you  will  unroll  your  lead  and  line 
for  another  essay.    Is  that  fickleness  ?    What  else  can  you 
do?     Must  you  launch  your  bark  on  the  unquiet  stream, 
against  whose  pebbly  bottom  the  keel  continually  grates 
and  rasps  your  nerves — simply  that  your  reputation  suf- 
fer no  detriment?     Fickleness?     There  is  no  fickleness 
about  it.    You  were  trying  an  experiment  which  you  had 
every  right  to  try.     As  soon  as  you  were  satisfied,  you 
stopped.     If  you  had  stopped  sooner,  you  would  have 
been  unsatisfied.     If  you  had  stopped  later,  you  would 
have  been  dissatisfied.     It  is  a  criminal  contempt  of  the 
magnificent  possibilities  of  life  not  to  lay  hold  of  "God's 
occasions  floating  by."     It  is  an  equally  criminal  perver- 
sion of  them  to  cling  tenaciously  to  what  was  only  the 
simulacrum  of  an  occasion.     A  man  will  toil  many  days 
and  nights  among  the  mountains  to  find  an  ingot  of  gold, 
which,  found,  he  bears  home  with  infinite  pains  and  just 
rejoicing;    but  he  would  be  a  fool  who  should  lade  his 
mules  with  iron-pyrites  to  justify  his  labors,  however 
severe. 

Fickleness !  what  is  it,  that  we  make  such  an  ado  about 
it  ?  And  what  is  constancy,  that  it  commands  such  usuri- 
ous interest?  The  one  is  a  foible  only  in  its  relations. 
The  other  is  only  thus  a  virtue.  "Fickle  as  the  winds"  is 
our  death-seal  upon  a  man ;  but  should  we  like  our  winds 
unfickle?  Would  a  perpetual  northeaster  lay  us  open  to 
perpetual  gratitude?  or  is  a  soft  south  gale  to  be  orisoned 
and  vespered  forevermore? 

613 


A    COMPLAINT    OF    FRIENDS 

I  am  tired  of  this  eternal  prating  of  devotion  and  con- 
stancy. It  is  senseless  in  itself  and  harmful  in  its  tend- 
encies. The  dictate  of  reason  is  to  treat  men  and  women 
as  we  do  oranges.  Suck  all  the  juice  out  and  then  let 
them  go.  Where  is  the  good  of  keeping  the  peel  and 
pulp-cells  till  they  get  old,  dry,  and  mouldy?  Let  them 
go,  and  they  will  help  feed  the  earth-worms  and  bugs  and 
beetles  who  can  hardly  find  existence  a  continued  ban- 
quet, and  fertilize  the  earth,  which  will  have  you  give  be- 
fore you  receive.  Thus  they  will  ultimately  spring  up  in 
new  and  beautiful  shapes.  Clung  to  with  constancy,  they 
stain  your  knife  and  napkin,  impart  a  bad  odor  to  your 
dining-room,  and  degenerate  into  something  that  is  nei- 
ther pleasant  to  the  eye  nor  good  for  food.  I  believe  in 
a  rotation  of  crops,  morally  and  socially,  as  well  as  agri- 
culturally. When  you  have  taken  the  measure  of  a  man, 
when  you  have  sounded  him  and  know  that  you  can  not 
wade  in  him  more  than  ankle-deep,  when  you  have  got 
out  of  him  all  that  he  has  to  yield  for  your  soul's  suste- 
nance and  strength,  what  is  the  next  thing  to  be  done? 
Obviously,  pass  him  on;  and  turn  you  "to  fresh  woods 
and  pastures  new."  Do  you  work  him  an  injury?  By 
no  means.  Friends  that  are  simply  glued  on,  and  don't 
grow  out  of,  are  little  worth.  He  has  nothing  more  for 
you,  nor  you  for  him ;  but  he  may  be  rich  in  juices  where- 
withal to  nourish  the  heart  of  another  man,  and  their 
two  lives,  set  together,  may  have  an  endosmose  and  ex- 
osmose  whose  result  shall  be  richness  of  soil,  grandeur 
of  growth,  beauty  of  foliage,  and  perfectness  of  fruit, 
while  you  and  he  would  only  have  languished  into  aridity 
and  a  stunted  crab-tree. 

For  my  part,  I  desire  to  sweep  off  my  old  friends 
with  the  old  year,  and  begin  the  new  with  a  clean  record. 
It  is  a  measure  absolutely  necessary.    The  snake  does  not 

614 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

put  on  his  new  skin  over  the  old  one.    He  sloughs  off  the 
first,  before  he  dons  the  second.     He  would  be  a  very 
clumsy  serpent,  if  he  did  not.     One  can  not  have  suc- 
cessive layers  of  friendships  any  more  than  the  snake  has 
successive  layers  of  skins.    One  must  adopt  some  system 
to  guard  against  a  congestion  of  the  heart  from  plethora 
of  loves.    I  go  in  for  the  much-abused,  fair-weather,  skin- 
deep,  April-shower  friends, — the  friends  who  will  drop 
off,  if  let  alone, — who  must  be  kept  awake  to  be  kept  at 
all, — who  will  talk  and  laugh  with  you  as  long  as  it  suits 
your   respective   humors   and   you   are   prosperous   and 
happy, — the  blessed  butterfly-race,  who  flutter  about  your 
June  mornings,  and  when  the  clouds  lower,  and  the  drops 
patter,  and  the  rains  descend,  and  the  winds  blow,  will 
spread   their  gay  wings   and   float  gracefully   away  to 
sunny,  southern  lands,  where  the  skies  are  yet  blue  and 
the  breezes  violet-scented.    They  are  not  only  agreeable, 
but  deeply  wise.     So  long  as  a  man  keeps  his  streamer 
flying,  his  sails  set,  and  his  hull  above  water,  it  is  pleasant 
to  paddle  alongside;  but  when  the  sails  split,  the  yards 
crack,  and  the  keel  goes  staggering  down,  by  all  means 
paddle  off.     Why  should  you  be  submerged  in  his  whirl- 
pool?    Will  he  drown  any  more  easily  because  you  are 
drowning  with  him  ?     Lung  is  lung.     He  dies  from  want 
of  air,  not  from  want  of  sympathy.     When  a  poor  fellow 
sits  down  among  the  ashes,  the  best  thing  his  friends  can 
do  is  to  stand  afar  off.     Job  bore  the  loss  of  property, 
children,  health,  with  equanimity.     Satan  himself  found 
his  match  there;  and  for  all  his  buffeting,  Job  sinned  not, 
nor  charged  God  foolishly.     But  Job's  three  friends  must 
needs  make  an  appointment  together  to  come  and  mourn 
with  him  and  to  comfort  him,  and  after  this  Job  opened 
his  mouth,  and  cursed  his  day, — and  no  wonder. 

Your  friends  have  an  intimate  knowledge  of  you  that 

6i5 


A    COMPLAINT    OF    FRIENDS 

is  astonishing  to  contemplate.     It  is  not  that  they  know 
your  affairs,  which  he  who  runs  may  read,  but  they  know 
you.     From   a  bit   of  bone,    Cuvier  could   predicate   a 
whole  animal,  even  to  the  hide  and  hair.     Such  moral 
naturalists  are  your  dear  five  hundred  friends.     It  seems 
to  yourself  that  you  are  immeasurably  reticent.     You 
know,  of  a  certainty,  that  you  project  only  the  smallest 
possible  fragment  of  yourself.     You  yield  your  univer- 
sality to  the  bond  of  common  brotherhood ;  but  your  in- 
dividualism— what  it  is  that  makes  you  you — withdraws 
itself  naturally,  involuntarily,  inevitably  into  the  back- 
ground,— the  dim  distance  which  their  eyes  can  not  pene- 
trate.   But,  from  the  fraction  which  you  do  project,  they 
construct  another  you,  call  it  by  your  name,  and  pass  it 
around  for  the  real,  the  actual  you.    You  bristle  with  jest 
and  laughter  and  wild  whims,  to  keep  them  at  a  distance; 
and  they  fancy  this  to  be  your  every-day  equipment. 
They  think  your  life  holds  constant  carnival.    It  is  aston- 
ishing what  ideas  spring  up  in  the  heads  of  sensible  peo- 
ple.   There  are  those  who  assume  that  a  person  can  never 
have  had  any  grief,  unless  somebody  has  died,  or  he  has 
been  disappointed  in  love, — not  knowing  that  every  ave- 
nue of  joy  lies  open  to  the  tramp  of  pain.    They  see  the 
flashing  coronet  on  the  queen's  brow,  and  they  infer  a 
diamond  woman,  not  recking  of  the  human  heart  that 
throbs  wildly  out  of  sight.     They  see  the  foam-crest  on 
the  wave,  and  picture  an  Atlantic  Ocean  of  froth,  and 
not  the  solemn  sea  that  stands  below  in  eternal  equipoise. 
You  turn  to  them  the  luminous  crescent  of  your  life,  and 
they  call  it  the  whole  round  globe;  and  so  they  love  you 
with  a  love  that  is  agate,  not  pearl,  because  what  they 
love  in  you  is  something  infinitely  below  the  highest. 
They  love  you  level :  they  have  never  scaled  your  heights 
nor  fathomed  your  depths.     And  when  they  talk  of  you 

616 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

as  familiarly  as  if  they  had  taken  out  your  auricles  and 
ventricles,  and  turned  them  inside  out,  and  wrung-  them, 
and  shaken  them, — when  they  prate  of  your  transparency 
and  openness,  the  abandonment  with  which  you  draw 
aside  the  curtain  and  reveal  the  inmost  thoughts  of  your 
heart, — you,  who  are  to  yourself  a  miracle  and  a  mystery, 
you  smile  inwardly,  and  are  content.  They  are  on  the 
wrong  scent,  and  you  may  pursue  your  plans  in  peace. 
They  are  indiscriminate  and  satisfied.  They  do  not  know 
the  relation  of  what  appears  to  what  is.  If  they  chance 
to  skirt  along  the  coasts  of  your  Purple  Island,  it  will  be 
only  chance,  and  they  will  not  know  it.  You  may  close 
your  port-holes,  lower  your  drawbridge,  and  make  merry, 
for  they  will  never  come  within  gunshot  of  the  "round 
tower  of  your  heart." 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  knowing  a  man  intimately. 
Every  soul  is,  for  the  greater  part  of  its  mortal  life,  iso- 
lated from  every  other.  Whether  it  dwell  in  the  Garden 
of  Eden  or  the  Desert  of  Sahara,  it  dwells  alone.  Not 
only  do  we  jostle  against  the  street  crowd  unknowing 
and  unknown,  but  we  go  out  and  come  in,  we  lie  down 
and  rise  up,  with  strangers.  Jupiter  and  Neptune  sweep 
the  heavens  not  more  unfamiliar  to  us  than  the  worlds 
that  circle  our  own  hearthstone.  Day  after  day,  and  year 
after  year  a  person  moves  by  your  side;  he  sits  at  the 
same  table;  he  reads  the  same  books;  he  kneels  in  the 
same  church.  You  know  every  hair  of  his  head,  every 
trick  of  his  lips,  every  tone  of  his  voice;  you  can  tell  him 
far  off  by  his  gait.  Without  seeing  him,  you  recognize 
his  step,  his  knock,  his  laugh.  "Know  him  ?  Yes,  I  have 
known  him  these  twenty  years."  No,  you  don't  know 
him.  You  know  his  gait,  and  hair,  and  voice.  You  know 
what  preacher  he  hears,  what  ticket  he  voted,  and  what 
were  his  last  year's  expenses;  but  you  don't  know  him. 

617 


A    COMPLAINT    OF    FRIENDS 

He  sits  quietly  in  his  chair,  but  he  is  in  the  temple.  You 
speak  to  him;  his  soul  comes  out  into  the  vestibule  to 
answer  you,  and  returns, — and  the  gates  are  shut ;  there- 
in you  can  not  enter.  You  were  discussing  the  state  of  the 
country ;  but  when  you  ceased,  he  opened  a  postern-gate, 
went  down  a  bank,  and  launched  on  a  sea  over  whose 
waters  you  have  no  boat  to  sail,  no  star  to  guide.  You 
have  loved  and  reverenced  him.  He  has  been  your  con- 
crete of  truth  and  nobleness.  Unwittingly  you  touch  a ' 
secret  spring,  and  a  Blue-Beard  chamber  stands  revealed. 
You  give  no  sign ;  you  meet  and  part  as  usual ;  but  a  Dead 
Sea  rolls  between  you  two  forevermore. 

It  must  be  so.  Not  even  to  the  nearest  and  dearest  can 
one  unveil  the  secret  place  where  his  soul  abideth,  so  that 
there  shall  be  no  more  any  winding  ways  or  hidden  cham- 
bers ;  but  to  your  indifferent  neighbor,  what  blind  alleys, 
and  deep  caverns,  and  inaccessible  mountains!  To  him 
who  "touches  the  electric  chain  wherewith  you're  darkly 
bound,"  your  soul  sends  back  an  answering  thrill.  One 
little  window  is  opened,  and  there  is  short  parley.  Your 
ships  speak  each  other  now  and  then  in  welcome,  though 
imperfect  communication ;  but  immediately  you  strike  out 
again  into  the  great,  shoreless  sea,  over  which  you  must 
sail  forever  alone.  You  may  shrink  from  the  far-reach- 
ing solitudes  of  your  heart,  but  no  other  foot  than  yours 
can  tread  them,  save  those 

"That,  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  were  nailed, 
For  our  advantage,  to  the  bitter  cross." 

Be  thankful  that  it  is  so, — that  only  His  eye  sees 
whose  hand  formed.  If  we  could  look  in,  we  should  be 
appalled  at  the  vision.  The  worlds  that  glide  around  us 
are  mysteries  too  high  for  us.  We  can  not  attain  to  them. 
The  naked  soul  is  a  sight  too  awful  for  man  to  look  at 

618 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

and  live.  There  are  individuals  whose  topography  we 
would  like  to  know  a  little  better,  and  there  is  danger 
that  we  crash  against  each  other  while  roaming  around 
in  the  dark ;  but  for  all  that,  would  we  not  have  the  con- 
stitution broken  up.  Somebody  says,  "In  Heaven  there 
will  be  no  secrets,"  which,  it  seems  to  me,  would  be  in- 
tolerable. (If  that  were  a  revelation  from  the  King  of 
Heaven,  of  course  I  would  not  speak  flippantly  of  it ;  but 
though  towards  Heaven  we  look  with  reverence  and 
humble  hope,  I  do  not  know  that  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry's 
notions  of  it  have  any  special  claim  to  our  respect.)  Such 
publicity  would  destroy  all  individuality,  and  undermine 
the  foundations  of  society.  Clairvoyance — if  there  be 
any  such  thing — always  seemed  to  me  a  stupid  imperti- 
nence. When  people  pay  visits  to  me,  I  wish  them  to 
come  to  the  front  door,  and  ring  the  bell,  and  send  up 
their  names.  I  don't  wish  them  to  climb  in  at  the  win- 
dow, or  creep  through  the  pantry,  or,  worst  of  all,  float 
through  the  key-hole,  and  catch  me  in  undress.  So  I  be- 
lieve that  m  all  worlds  thoughts  will  be  the  subjects  of 
volition, — more  accurately  expressed  when  expression  is 
desired,  but  just  as  entirely  suppressed  when  we  will  sup- 
pression. 

After  all,  perhaps  the  chief  trouble  arises  from  a  preva- 
lent confusion  of  ideas  as  to  what  constitutes  a  man  your 
friend.  Friendship  may  stand  for  that  peaceful  com- 
placence which  you  feel  towards  all  well-behaved  people 
who  wear  clean  collars  and  use  tolerable  grammar.  This 
is  a  very  good  meaning,  if  everybody  will  subscribe  to  it. 
But  sundry  of  these  well-behaved  people  will  mistake 
your  civility  and  complacence  for  a  recognition  of  special 
affinity,  and  proceed  at  once  to  frame  an  alliance  offensive 
and  defensive  while  the  sun  and  the  moon  shall  endure.  O, 
the  barnacles  that  cling  to  your  keel  in  such  waters !     The 

619 


A    COMPLAINT    OF    FRIENDS 

inevitable  result  is,  that  they  win  your  intense  rancor. 
You  would  feel  a  genial  kindliness  toward  them,  if  they 
would  be  satisfied  with  that ;  but  they  lay  out  to  be  your 
specialty.  They  infer  your  innocent  little  inch  to  be  the 
standard-bearer  of  twenty  ells,  and  goad  you  to  frenzy. 
I  mean  you,  you  desperate  little  horror,  who  nearly  de- 
throned my  reason  six  years  ago!  I  always  meant  to 
have  my  revenge,  and  here  I  impale  you  before  the  pub- 
lic. For  three  months,  you  fastened  yourself  upon  me, 
and  I  could  not  shake  you  off.  What  availed  it  me,  that 
you  were  an  honest  and  excellent  man?  Did  I  not, 
twenty  times  a  day,  wish  you  had  been  a  villain,  who  had 
insulted  me,  and  I  a  Kentucky  giant,  that  I  might  have 
the  unspeakable  satisfaction  of  knocking  you  down  ?  But 
you  added  to  your  crimes  virtue.  Villainy  had  no  part 
or  lot  in  you.  You  were  a  member  of  a  church,  in  good 
and  regular  standing;  you  had  graduated  with  all  the 
honors  worth  mentioning;  you  had  not  a  sin,  a  vice,  or 
a  fault  that  I  knew  of ;  and  you  were  so  thoroughly  good 
and  repulsive  that  you  were  a  great  grief  to  me.  Do  you 
think,  you  dear,  disinterested  wretch,  that  I  have  forgot- 
ten how  you  were  continually  putting  yourself  to  horrible 
inconveniences  on  my  account?  Do  you  think  I  am  not 
now  filled  with  remorse  for  the  aversion  that  rooted  itself 
ineradicably  in  my  soul,  and  which  now  gloats  over  you, 
as  you  stand  in  the  pillory  where  my  own  hands  have 
fastened  you  ?  But  can  nature  be  crushed  forever  ?  Did 
I  not  ruin  my  nerves,  and  seriously  injure  my  temper,  by 
the  overpowering  pressure  I  laid  upon  them  to  keep  them 
quiet  when  you  were  by?  Could  I  not,  by  the  sense  of 
coming  ill  through  all  my  quivering  frame,  presage  your 
advent  as  exactly  as  the  barometer  heralds  the  approach- 
ing storm?  Those  three  months  of  agony  are  little 
atoned  for  by  this  late  vengeance ;  but  go  in  peace ! 

620 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

Mysterious  are  the  ways  of  friendship.  It  is  not  a  mat- 
ter of  reason  or  of  choice,  but  of  magnetisms.  You  can 
not  always  give  the  premises  nor  the  argument,  but  the 
conclusion  is  a  palpable  and  stubborn  fact.  Abana  and 
Pharpar  may  be  broad,  and  deep,  and  blue,  and  grand ; 
but  only  in  Jordan  shall  your  soul  wash  and  be  clean.  A 
thousand  brooks  are  born  of  the  sunshine  and  the  moun- 
tains :  very,  very  few  are  they  whose  flow  can  mingle 
with  yours,  and  not  disturb,  but  only  deepen  and  broaden 
the  current. 

Your  friend !  Who  shall  describe  him,  or  worthily 
paint  what  he  is  to  you?  No  merchant,  nor  lawyer,  nor 
farmer,  nor  statesman  claims  your  suffrage,  but  a  kingly 
soul.  He  comes  to  you  from  God, — a  prophet,  a  seer,  a 
revealer.  He  has  a  clear  vision.  His  love  is  reverence. 
He  goes  into  the  penetralia  of  your  life, — not  presumptu- 
ously, but  with  uncovered  head,  unsandaled  feet,  and 
pours  libations  at  the  innermost  shrine.  His  incense  is 
grateful.  For  him  the  sunlight  brightens,  the  skies  grow 
rosy,  and  all  the  days  are  Junes.  Wrapped  in  his  love, 
you  float  in  a  delicious  rest,  rocked  in  the  bosom  of  pur- 
ple, scented  waves.  Nameless  melodies  sing  themselves 
through  your  heart.  A  golden  glow  suffices  your  atmos- 
phere. A  vague,  fine  ecstasy  thrills  to  the  sources  of  life, 
and  earth  lays  hold  on  Heaven.  Such  friendship  is  wor- 
ship. It  elevates  the  most  trifling  services  into  rites. 
The  humblest  offices  are  sanctified.  All  things  are  bap- 
tized into  a  new  name.  Duty  is  lost  in  joy.  Care  veils 
itself  in  caresses.  Drudgery  becomes  delight.  There  is 
no  longer  anything  menial,  small,  or  servile.  All  is, 
transformed 

"Into  something  rich  and  strange." 

The  homely  household-ways  lead  through  beds  o.f  spices 

621 


A    COMPLAINT    OF    FRIENDS 

and  orchards  of  pomegranates.  The  daily  toil  among 
your  parsnips  and  carrots  is  plucking  May  violets  with 
the  dew  upon  them  to  meet  the  eyes  you  love  upon  their 
first  awaking.  In  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day  you 
hear  the  rustling  of  summer  showers  and  the  whispering 
of  summer  winds.  Everything  is  lifted  up  from  the  plane 
of  labor  to  the  plane  of  love,  and  a  glory  spans  your  life. 
With  your  friend,  speech  and  silence  are  one ;  for  a  com- 
munion mysterious  and  intangible  reaches  across  from 
heart  to  heart.  The  many  dig  and  delve  in  your  nature 
with  fruitless  toil  to  find  the  spring  of  living  water:  he 
only  raises  his  wand,  and,  obedient  to  the  hidden  powder, 
it  bends  at  once  to  your  secret.  Your  friendship,  though 
independent  of  language,  gives  to  it  life  and  light.  The 
mystic  spirit  stirs  even  in  commonplaces,  and  the  merest 
question  is  an  endearment.  You  are  quiet  because  your 
heart  is  over-full.  You  talk  because  it  is  pleasant,  not 
because  you  have  anything  to  say.  You  weary  of  terms 
that  are  already  love-laden,  and  you  go  out  into  the  high- 
ways and  hedges,  and  gather  up  the  rough,  wild,  wilful 
words,  heavy  with  the  hatreds  of  men,  and  fill  them  to  the 
brim  with  honey-dew.  All  things  great  and  small, 
grand  or  humble,  you  press  into  your  service,  force  them 
to  do  soldier's  duty,  and  your  banner  over  them  is  love. 

With  such  a  friendship,  presence  alone  is  happiness; 
nor  is  absence  wholly  void, — for  memories,  and  hopes, 
and  pleasing  fancies,  sparkle  through  the  hours,  and  you 
know  the  sunshine  will  come  back. 

For  such  friendship  one  is  grateful.  No  matter  that 
it  comes  unsought,  and  comes  not  for  the  seeking.  You 
do  not  discuss  the  reasonableness  of  your  gratitude.  You 
only  know  that  your  whole  being  bows  with  humility  and 
utter  thankfulness  to  him  who  thus  crowns  you  monarch 
of  all  realms. 

622 


GAIL    HAMILTON 

And  the  kingdom  is  everlasting.  A  weak  love  dies 
weakly  with  the  occasion  that  gave  it  birth;  but  such 
friendship  is  born  of  the  gods,  and  immortal.  Clouds 
and  darkness  may  sweep  around  it,  but  within  the  cloud 
the  glory  lives  undimmed.  Death  has  no  power  over  it. 
Time  can  not  diminish,  nor  even  dishonor  annul  it  Its 
direction  may  have  been  earthly,  but  itself  is  divine.  You 
go  back  into  your  solitudes :  all  is  silent  as  aforetime,  but 
you  can  not  forget  that  a  Voice  once  resounded  there.  A 
Presence  filled  the  valleys  and  gilded  the  mountain-tops, 
— breathed  upon  the  plains,  and  they  sprang  up  in  lilies 
and  roses, — flashed  upon  the  waters,  and  they  flowed  to 
spheral  melody, — swept  through  the  forests,  and  they, 
too,  trembled  into  song.  And  though  now  the  warmth 
has  faded  out,  though  the  ruddy  tints  and  amber  clear- 
ness have  paled  to  ashen  hues,  though  the  murmuring 
melodies  are  dead,  and  forest,  vale,  and  hill  look  hard 
and  angular  in  the  sharp  air,  you  know  that  it  is  not 
death.  The  fire  is  unquenched  beneath.  You  go  your 
way  not  disconsolate.  There  needs  but  the  Victorious 
Voice.  At  the  touch  of  the  prince's  lips,  life  shall  rise 
again  and  be  perfected  forevermore. 


623 


PONCHUS  PILUT 

BY   JAMES    WHITCOMB   RILEY 

Ponchus  Pilut  used  to  be 

1st  a  Slave,  an'  now  he's  free. 

Slaves  wuz  on'y  ist  before 

The  War  wuz — an'  ain't  no  more. 

He  works  on  our  place  fer  us, — 
An'  comes  here — sometimes  he  does. 
He  shocks  corn  an'  shucks  it. — An' 
He  makes  hominy  "by  han' !" — 

Wunst  he  bringed  us  some,  one  trip, 
Tied  up  in  a  piller-slip : 
Pa  says,  when  Ma  cooked  it,  "MY ! 
This-here's  gooder'n  you  buy!" 

Ponchus  pats  fer  me  an'  sings ; 
An'  he  says  most  funny  things ! 
Ponchus  calls  a  dish  a  "deesh" — 
Yes,  an'  he  calls  fishes  "feesh"  ! 

When  Ma  want  him  eat  wiv  us 
He  says,  "  'Skuse  me — 'deed  you  mus' !- 
Ponchus  know  good  manners,  Miss. — 
He  aint  eat  wher'  White- folks  is!" 
624 


JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY 

'Lindy  takes  his  dinner  out 
Wher'  he's  workin' — roun'  about. — 
Wunst  he  et  his  dinner,  spread 
In  our  ole  wheel-borry-bed. 

Ponchus  Pilut  says  "  'afs  not 
His  right  name, — an'  done  f ergot 
What  his  sho'-nuif  name  is  now — 
An'  don'  matter  none  wohow !" 

Yes,  an'  Ponchus  he'ps  Pa,  too, 
When  our  butcherin's  to  do, 
An'  scalds  hogs — an'  says  "Take  care 
'Bout  it,  er  you'll  set  the  hair!" 

Yes,  an'  out  in  our  back-yard 
He  he'ps  'Lindy  rendur  lard ; 
An',  wite  in  the  fire  there,  he 
Roast'  a  pig-tail  wunst  fer  me. — 

An'  ist  nen  th'ole  tavurn-bell 
Rung,  down  town,  an'  he  says  "Well  !- 
Hear  dat !  Lan'  o'  Canaan,  Son, 
Aint  dat  bell  say  e Pig-tail  done  I' 

— l Pig-tail  done! 
Go  call  Son! — 

Tell  dat 

Chile  dat 
Pig-tail  done!' " 


Vol. 


625 


THE  WOLF  AT  SUSAN'S  DOOR 

BY   ANNE   WARNER 


"1 


'Well,  Lucy  has  got  Hiram!" 
.  There  was  such  a  strong  inflection  of  triumphant  joy- 
in  Miss  Clegg's  voice  as  she  called  the  momentous  news 
to  her  friend  that  it  would  have  been  at  once — and  most 
truthfully — surmised  that  the  getting  of  Hiram  had  been 
a  more  than  slight  labor. 

Mrs.  Lathrop  was  waiting  by  the  fence,  impatience 
written  with  a  wandering  reflection  all  over  the  serenity 
of  her  every-day  expression.  Susan  only  waited  to  lay 
aside  her  bonnet  and  mitts  and  then  hastened  to  the  fence 
herself. 

"Mrs.  Lathrop,  you  never  saw  nor  heard  the  like  of 
this  weddin'  day  in  all  your  own  days  to  be  or  to  come, 
and  I  don't  suppose  there  ever  will  be  anything  like  it 
again,  for  Lucy  Dill  didn't  cut  no  figger  in  her  own  wed- 
din' a-tall, — the  whole  thing  was  Gran'ma  Mullins  first, 
last  and  forever  hereafter.  I  tell  you  it  looked  once  or 
twice  as  if  it  wouldn't  be  a  earthly  possibility  to  marry 
Hiram  away  from  his  mother,  and  now  that  it's  all  over 
people  can't  do  anything  but  say  as  after  all  Lucy  ought 
to  consider  herself  very  lucky  as  things  turned  out,  for  if 
things  hadn't  turned  out  as  they  did  turn  out  I  don't  be- 
lieve anything  on  earth  could  have  unhooked  that  son, 
and  I'm  willin'  to  swear  that  anywhere  to  any  one. 

"Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  that  Gran'ma  Mullins 
was  so  bad  off  last  night  as  they  had  to  put  a  mustard 
plaster  onto  her  while  Hiram  went  to  see  Lucy  for  the 

626 


ANNE    WARNER 

last  time,  an'  Mrs.  Macy  says  as  she  never  hear  the  beat 
o'  her  memory,  for  she  says  she'll  take  her  Bible  oath  as 
Gran'ma  Mullins  told  her  what  Hiram  said  and  done 
every  minute  o'  his  life  while  he  was  gone  to  see  Lucy 
Dill.  And  she  cried,  too,  and  took  on  the  whole  time  she 
was  talkin'  an'  said  Heaven  help  her,  for  nobody  else 
could,  an'  she  just  knowed  Lucy'd  get  tired  o'  Hiram's 
story  an'  he  can't  be  happy  a  wmole  day  without  he  tells  it, 
an'  she's  most  sure  Lucy  won't  like  his  singin'  'Marchin' 
Through  Georgia'  after  the  first  month  or  two,  an'  it's  the 
only  tune  as  Hiram  has  ever  really  took  to.  Mrs.  Macy 
says  she  soon  found  she  couldn't  do  nothin'  to  stem  the 
tide  except  to  drink  tea  an'  listen,  so  she  drank  an'  lis- 
tened till  Hiram  come  home  about  eleven.  Oh,  my.  but 
she  says  they  had  the  time  then !  Gran'ma  Mullins  let 
him  in  herself,  and  just  as  soon  as  he  was  in  she  bu'st 
into  floods  of  tears  an'  wouldn't  let  him  loose  under  no 
consideration.  She  says  Hiram  managed  to  get  his  back 
to  the  wall  for  a  brace  'cause  Gran'ma  Mullins  nigh  to 
upset  him  every  fresh  time  as  Lucy  come  over  her,  an' 
Mrs.  Macy  says  she  couldn't  but  wonder  what  the  end 
was  goin'  to  be  when,  toward  midnight,  Hiram  just  lost 
patience  and  dodged  out  under  her  arm  and  run  up  the 
ladder  to  the  roof-room  an'  they  couldn't  get  him  to 
come  down  again.  She  says  when  Gran'ma  Mullins  real- 
ized as  he  wouldn't  come  down  she  most  went  mad  over 
the  notion  of  her  only  son's  spendin'  the  Christmas  Eve 
to  his  own  weddin'  sleepin'  on  the  floor  o'  the  attic  and 
she  wanted  to  poke  the  cot  up  to  him  but  Mrs.  Macy  says 
she  drew  the  line  at  cot-pokin'  when  the  cot  was  all  she'd 
have  to  sleep  on  herself,  and  in  the  end  they  poked  quilts 
up,  an'  pillows  an'  doughnuts  an'  cider  an'  blankets,  an' 
Hiram  made  a  bed  on  the  floor  an'  they  all  got  to  sleep 
about  three  o'clock. 

627 


THE    WOLF    AT    SUSAN'S    DOOR 

''Well,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  what  do  you  think?  What  do 
you  think?  They  was  so  awful  tired  that  none  of  'em 
woke  till  Mrs.  Sperrit  come  at  eleven  next  day  to  take 
'em  to  the  weddin' !  Mrs.  Macy  says  she  hopes  she'll  be 
put  forward  all  her  back-slidin's  if  she  ever  gets  such  a 
start  again.  She  says  when  she  peeked  out  between  the 
blinds  an'  see  Mrs.  Sperrit's  Sunday  bonnet  an'  realized 
her  own  state  she  nearly  had  a  fit.  Mrs.  Sperrit  had  to 
come  in  an'  be  explained  to,  an'  the  worst  of  it  was  as 
Hiram  couldn't  be  woke  nohow.  He'd  pulled  the  ladder 
up  after  him  an'  put  the  lid  on  the  hole  so's  to  feel  safe, 
an'  there  he  was  snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug  an'  where  no 
human  bein'  could  get  at  him.  They  hollered  an'  banged 
doors  an'  sharpened  the  carvin'  knife  an'  poured  grease 
on  the  stove  an'  did  anything  they  could  think  of,  but  he 
never  budged.  Mrs.  Macy  says  she  never  was  so  close  be- 
side herself  in  all  her  life  before,  for  Gran'ma  Mullins 
cried  worse  'n  ever  each  minute  an'  Hiram  seemed  like 
the  very  dead  couldn't  wake  him. 

"They  was  all  hoppin'  around  half  crazy  when  Mr. 
Sperrit  come  along  on  his  way  to  the  weddin'  an'  his  wife 
run  out  an'  told  him  what  was  the  matter  an'  he  come 
right  in  an'  looked  up  at  the  matter.  It  didn't  take  long 
for  him  to  unsettle  Hiram,  Mrs.  Macy  says.  He  got  a 
sulphur  candle  an'  tied  it  to  a  stick  an'  h'isted  the  lid  with 
another  stick,  an'  in  less  'n  two  minutes  they  could  all 
hear  Hiram  sneezin'  an'  comin'  to.  An'  Mrs.  Macy  says 
when  they  hollered  what  time  it  was  she  wishes  the  whole 
town  might  have  been  there  to  see  Hiram  Mullins  come 
down  to  earth.  Mr.  Sperrit  didn't  hardly  have  time  to 
get  out  o'  the  way  an'  he  didn't  give  his  mother  no  show 
for  one  single  grab, — he  just  bounced  into  his  room  and 
you  could  have  heard  him  gettin'  dressed  on  the  far  side 
o'  the  far  bridge. 

628 


ANNE    WARNER 

"O'  course,  us  at  Lucy's  didn't  know  anythin'  a-tall 
about  Mrs.  Macy's  troubles.  We  had  our  own,  Heaven 
help  us,  an'  they  was  enough,  for  the  very  first  thing  of 
all  Mr.  Dill  caught  his  pocket  on  the  corner  of  Mrs.  Dill 
an'  come  within  a  ace  of  pullin'  her  off  her  easel.  That 
would  have  been  a  pretty  beginnin'  to  Lucy's  weddin'  day 
if  her  father  had  smashed  her  mother  to  bits,  I  guess,  but 
it  couldn't  have  made  Lucy  any  worse;  for  I  will  say, 
Mrs.  Lathrop,  as  I  never  see  no  one  in  all  my  born  life 
act  foolisher  than  Lucy  Dill  this  day.  First  she'd  laugh 
an'  then  she'd  cry  an'  then  she'd  lose  suthin'  as  we'd  got 
to  have  to  work  with.  An'  when  it  come  to  dressin'  her ! 
— well,  if  she'd  known  as  Hiram  was  sleepin'  a  sleep  as 
next  to  knowed  no  wakin'  she  couldn't  have  put  on  more 
things  wrong  side  out  an'  hind  side  before!  She  wasn't 
dressed  till  most  every  one  was  there  an'  I  was  gettin' 
pretty  anxious,  for  Hiram  wasn't  there  neither,  an'  the 
more  fidgety  people  got  the  more  they  caught  their  cor- 
ners on  Mrs.  Dill.  I  just  saved  her  from  Mr.  Kimball, 
an'  Amelia  saw  her  goin'  as  a  result  o'  Judge  Fitch  an' 
hardly  had  time  for  a  jump.  The  minister  himself  was 
beginnin'  to  cough  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  some  one  cried 
as  the  Sperrits  was  there. 

"Well,  we  all  squeezed  to  the  window,  an'  such  a  sight 
you  never  saw.  They  was  gettin'  Gran'ma  Mullins  out 
an'  Hiram  was  tryin'  to  keep  her  from  runnin'  the  color 
of  his  cravat  all  down  his  shirt  while  she  was  sobbin' 
'Hi-i-i-i-ram,  Hi-i-i-i-i-ram,'  in  a  voice  as  would  wring 
your  very  heart  dry.  They  got  her  out  an'  got  her  in  an' 
got  her  upstairs,  an'  we  all  sat  down  an'  begin  to  get  ready 
while  Amelia  played  'Lead,  Kindly  Light'  and  'The  Joy- 
ous Farmer'  alternate,  'cause  she'd  mislaid  her  Weddin' 
March. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  you  never  knowed  nothin'  like 

629 


THE    WOLF    AT    SUSAN'S    DOOR 

it! — we  waited,  an'  we  waited,  an  we  waited,  an'  the 
minister  most  coughed  himself  into  consumption,  an'  Mrs. 
Dill  got  caught  on  so  often  that  Mr.  Kimball  told  Ed  to 
stand  back  of  her  an'  hold  her  to  the  easel  every  minute. 
Amelia  was  just  beginning  over  again  for  the  seventeenth 
time  when  at  last  we  heard  'em  bumpin'  along  downstairs. 
Seems  as  all  the  delay  come  from  Lucy's  idea  o'  wantin' 
to  walk  with  her  father  an'  have  a  weddin'  procession, 
instid  o'  her  an'  Hiram  comin'  in  together  like  Christians 
an'  lettin'  Mr.  Dill  hold  Gran'ma  Mullins  up  anywhere. 
Polly  says  she  never  see  such  a  time  as  they  had  of  it; 
she  says  fightin'  wolves  was  layin'  lambs  beside  the  way 
they  talked.  Hiram  said  frank  an'  open  as  the  reason  he 
didn't  want  to  walk  in  with  his  mother  was  he  was  sure 
she  wouldn't  let  him  out  to  get  married,  but  Lucy  was 
dead  set  on  the  procession  idea.  So  in  the  end  they  done 
it  so,  an'  Gran'ma  Mullins's  sobs  fairly  shook  the  house 
as  they  come  through  the  dinin'-room  door.  Lucy  was 
first  with  her  father  an'  they  both  had  their  heads  turned 
backward  lookin'  at  Hiram  an'  his  mother. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  it  was  certainly  a  sight  worth 
seein' !  The  way  that  Gran'ma  Mullins  was  glued  on !  All 
I  can  say  is  as  octopuses  has  got  their  backs  turned  in 
comparison  to  the  way  that  Hiram  seemed  to  be  all 
wrapped  up  in  her.  It  looked  like  wild  horses,  not  to 
speak  of  Lucy  Dill,  wouldn't  never  be  able  to  get  him 
loose  enough  to  marry  him.  The  minister  was  scared; 
we  was  all  scared.    I  never  see  a  worse  situation  to  be  in. 

"They  come  along  through  the  back  parlor,  Lucy  look- 
in'  back,  Mr.  Dill  white  as  a  sheet,  an'  Hiram  walkin' 
like  a  snow-plough  as  isn't  sure  how  long  it  can  keep  on 
makin'  it.  It  seemed  like  a  month  as  they  was  under  way 
before  they  finally  got  stopped  in  front  o'  the  minister. 
An'  then  come  tlie  time !  Hiram  had  to  step  beside  Lucy 

630 


ANNE    WARNER 

an'  take  her  hand  an'  he  couldn't !  We  all  just  gasped. 
There  was  Hiram  tryin'  to  get  loose  and  Mr.  Dill  tryin' 
to  help  him.  Gran'ma  Mullins's  tears  dripped  till  you 
could  hear  'em,  but  she  hung  on  to  Hiram  like  he'd  paid 
for  it.  They  worked  like  Trojan  beavers,  but  as  fast  as 
they'd  get  one  side  of  him  uncovered  she'd  take  a  fresh 
wind-round.  I  tell  you,  we  all  just  held  our  breath,  and 
I  bet  Lucy  was  sorry  she  persisted  in  havin'  a  procession 
when  she  see  the  perspiration  runnin'  off  her  father  an' 
Hiram. 

"Finally  Polly  got  frightened  and  begun  to  cry,  an'  at 
that  the  deacon  put  his  arm  around  her  an'  give  her  a  hug, 
an'  Gran'ma  Mullins  looked  up  just  in  time  to  see  the 
arm  an'  the  hug.  It  seemed  like  it  was  the  last  hay  in  the 
donkey,  for  she  give  a  weak  screech  an'  went  right  over 
on  Mr.  Dill.  She  had  such  a  grip  on  Hiram  that  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  Lucy  he'd  have  gone  over,  too,  but  Lucy 
just  hung  on  herself  that  time,  an'  Hiram  was  rescued 
without  nothin'  worse  than  his  hair  mussed  an'  one  sleeve 
a  little  tore.  Mr.  Sperrit  an'  Mr.  Jilkins  carried  Gran'ma 
Mullins  into  the  dinin'-room,  an'  I  said  to  just  leave  her 
fainted  till  after  we'd  got  Hiram  well  an'  truly  married ; 
so  they  did. 

"I  never  see  the  minister  rattle  nothin'  through  like 
that  marriage-service.  Every  one  was  on  whole  papers 
of  pins  an'  needles,  an'  the  minute  it  was  over  every  one 
just  felt  like  sittin'  right  straight  down. 

"Mrs.  Macy  an'  me  went  up  an'  watered  Gran'ma  Mul- 
lins till  we  brought  her  to,  and  when  she  learned  as  it  was 
all  done  she  picked  up  wonderful  and  felt  as  hungry  as 
any  one,  an'  come  downstairs  an'  kissed  Lucy  an'  caught 
a  corner  on  Mrs.  Dill  just  like  she'd  never  been  no  trouble 
to  no  one  from  first  to  last.  I  never  seen  such  a  sudden 
change  in  all  my  life;  it  was  like  some  miracle  had  come 

631 


THE    WOLF    AT    SUSAN'S    DOOR 

out  all  over  her  and  there  wasn't  no  one  there  as  wasn't 
rejoiced  to  death  over  the  change. 

"We  all  went  out  in  the  dinin'-room  and  the  sun  shone 
in  and  every  one  laughed  over  nothin'  a-tall.  Mrs.  Sper- 
rit  pinned  Hiram  up  from  inside  so  his  tear  didn't  show, 
and  Lucy  and  he  set  side  by  side  and  looked  like  no  one 
was  ever  goin'  to  ever  be  married  again.  Polly  an'  the 
deacon  set  opposite  and  the  minister  an'  his  wife  an'  Mr. 
Dill  an'  Gran'ma  Mullins  made  up  the  table.  The  rest 
stood  around,  and  we  was  all  as  lively  as  words  can  tell. 
The  cake  was  one  o'  the  handsomest  as  I  ever  see,  two 
pigeons  peckin'  a  bell  on  top  and  Hiram  an'  Lucy  runnin' 
around  below  in  pink.  There  was  a  dime  inside  an'  a 
ring,  an'  I  got  the  dime,  an'  they  must  have  forgot  to  put 
in  the  ring  for  no  one  got  it." 

Susan  paused  and  panted. 

"It  was — "  commented  Mrs.  Lathrop,  thoughtfully. 

"Nice  that  I  got  the  dime  ? — yes,  I  should  say.  There 
certainly  wasn't  no  one  there  as  needed  it  worse,  an',  al- 
though I'd  never  be  one  to  call  a  djme  a  fortune,  still  it  is 
a  dime,  an'  no  one  can't  deny  it  the  honor,  no  matter  how 
they  feel.  But,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  what  you'd  ought  to  have 
seen  was  Hiram  and  Lucy  ready  to  go  off.  I  bet  no  one 
knows  they're  brides — I  bet  no  one  knows  what  they  are, 
— you  never  saw  the  like  in  all  your  worst  dreams.  Hiram 
wore  spectacles  an'  carpet-slippers  an'  that  old  umbrella 
as  Mr.  Shores  keeps  at  the  store  to  keep  from  bein'  stole, 
and  Lucy  wore  clothes  she'd  found  in  trunks  an'  her  hair 
in  curl-papers,  an'  her  cold-cream  gloves.  They  certainly 
was  a  sight,  an'  Gran'ma  Mullins  laughed  as  hard  as  any 
one  over  them.  Mr.  Sperrit  drove  'em  to  the  train,  an' 
Hiram  says  he's  goin'  to  spend  two  dollars  a  day  right 
along  till  he  comes  back ;  so  I  guess  Lucy  '11  have  a  good 
time  for  once  in  her  life.    An'  Gran'ma  Mullins  walked 

632 


ANNE    WARNER 

back  with  me  an'  not  one  word  o'  Hiram  did  she  speak. 
She  was  all  Polly  an'  the  deacon.  She  said  it  wa'n't  in 
reason  as  Polly  could  imagine  him  with  hair,  an'  she  said 
she  was  thinkin  very  seriously  o'  givin'  her  a  piece  o'  his 
hair  as  she's  got,  for  a  weddin'  present.  She  said  Polly 
'd  never  know  what  he  was  like  the  night  he  give  her  that 
hair.  She  said  the  moon  was  shinin'  an'  the  frogs  were 
croakin',  an'  she  kind  o'  choked ;  she  says  she  can't  smell 
a  marsh  to  this  day  without  seein'  the  deacon  givin'  her 
that  piece  of  hair.  I  cheered  her  up  all  I  could — I  told 
her  anyhow  he  couldn't  give  Polly  a  piece  of  his  hair  if  he 
died  for  it.  She  smiled  a  weak  smile  an'  went  on  up  to 
Mrs.  Brown's.  Mrs.  Brown  asked  her  to  stay  with  her  a 
day  or  two.  Mrs.  Brown  has  her  faults,  but  nobody  can't 
deny  as  she's  got  a  good  heart, — in  fact,  sometimes  I 
think  Mrs.  Brown's  good  heart  is  about  the  worst  fault 
she's  got.  I've  knowed  it  lead  her  to  do  very  foolish 
things  time  an'  again — things  as  I  thank  my  star  I'd 
never  think  o'  doin' — not  in  this  world." 

Mrs.  Lathrop  shifted  her  elbows  a  little;  Susan  with- 
drew at  once  from  the  fence. 

"I  must  go  in,"  she  said,  "to-morrow  is  goin'  to  be  a 
more  'n  full  day.  There's  Polly's  weddin'  an'  then  in  the 
evenin'  Mr.  Weskin  is  comin'  up.  You  needn't  look  sur- 
prised, Mrs.  Lathrop,  because  I've  thought  the  subject 
over  up  an'  down  an'  hind  end  foremost  an'  there  ain't 
nothin'  left  for  me  to  do.  I  can't  sell  nothin'  else  an' 
I've  got  to  have  money,  so  I'm  goin'  to  let  go  of  one  of 
those  bonds  as  father  left  me.  There  ain't  no  way  out  of 
it;  I  told  Mr.  Weskin  I'd  expect  him  at  sharp  eight  on 
sharp  business  an'  he'll  come.  An'  I  must  go  as  a  conse- 
quence.   Good  night." 

Polly  Allen's  wedding  took  place  the  next  day,  and 

633 


THE    WOLF    AT    SUSAN'S    DOOR 

Mrs.  Lathrop  came  out  on  her  front  piazza  about  half 
past  five  to  wait  for  her  share  in  the  event. 

The  sight  of  Mrs.  Brown  going  by  with  her  head 
bound  up  in  a  white  cloth,  accompanied  by  Gran'ma  Mul- 
lins  with  both  hands  similarly  treated,  was  the  first  ink- 
ling the  stay-at-home  had  that  strange  doings  had  been 
lately  done. 

Susan  came  next  and  Susan  was  a  sight ! 

Not  only  did  her  ears  stand  up  with  a  size  and  con-, 
spicuousness  never  inherited  from  either  her  father  or  her 
mother,  but  also  her  right  eye  was  completely  closed  and 
she  walked  lame. 

"The  Lord  have  mercy !"  cried  Mrs.  Lathrop,  when  the 
full  force  of  her  friend's  affliction  effected  its  complete 
entrance  into  her  brain, — "Why,  Susan,  what — " 

"Mrs.  Lathrop,"  said  Miss  Clegg,  "all  I  can  say  is  I 
come  out  better  than  the  most  of  'em,  an'  if  you  could  see 
Sam  Duruy  or  Mr.  Kimball  or  the  minister  you'd  know 
I  spoke  the  truth.  The  deacon  an'  Polly  is  both  in  bed 
an'  can't  see  how  each  other  looks,  an'  them  as  has  a  eye 
is  goin'  to  tend  them  as  can't  see  at  all,  an'  God  help  'em 
all  if  young  Dr.  Brown  an'  the  mud  run  dry !"  with  which 
pious  ejaculation  Susan  painfully  mounted  the  steps  and 
sat  down  with  exceeding  gentleness  upon  a  chair. 

Mrs.  Lathrop  stared  at  her  in  dumb  and  wholly  be- 
wildered amazement.  After  a  while  Miss  Clegg  con- 
tinued. 

"It  was  all  the  deacon's  fault.  Him  an'  Polly  was  so* 
dead  set  on  bein'  fashionable  an'  bein'  a  contrast  to 
Hiram  an'  Lucy,  an'  I  hope  to-night  as  they  lay  there  all 
puffed  up  as  they'll  reflect  on  their  folly  an'  think  a  little 
on  how  the  rest  of  us  as  didn't  care  rhyme  or  reason  for 
folly  is  got  no  choice  but  to  puff  up,  too.  Mrs.  Jilkins 
is  awful  mad;  she  says  Mr.  Jilkins  wanted  to  wear  his 

634 


ANNE    WARNER 

straw  hat  anyhow  and,  she  says  she  always  has  hated  his 
silk  hat  'cause  it  reminds  her  o'  when  she  was  young 
and  foolish  enough  to  be  willin'  to  go  and  marry  into  a 
family  as  was  foolish  enough  to  marry  into  Deacon 
White.  Mrs.  Jilkins  is  extra  hot  because  she  got  one 
in  the  neck,  but  my  own  idea  is  as  Polly  Allen's  weddi-n' 
was  the  silliest  doin's  as  I  ever  see  from  the  beginning  an' 
the  end  wan't  no  more  than  might  o'  been  expected — all 
things  considered. 

"When  I  got  to  the  church,  what  do  you  think  was  the 
first  thing  as  I  see,  Mrs.  Lathrop?  Well,  you'd  never 
guess  till  kingdom  come,  so  I  may  as  well  tell  you.  It 
was  Ed  an'  Sam  Duruy  an'  Henry  Ward  Beecher  an' 
Johnny  standin'  there  waitin'  to  show  us  to  our  pews 
like  we  didn't  know  our  own  pews  after  sittin'  in  'em 
for  all  our  life-times!  I  just  shook  my  head  an'  walked 
to  my  pew,  an'  there,  if  it  wasn't  looped  shut  with  a 
daisy-chain !  Well,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  I  wish  you  could  have 
been  there  to  have  felt  for  me,  for  I  may  remark  as  a 
cyclone  is  a  caterpillar  wove  up  in  hisself  beside  my  face 
when  I  see  myself  daisy-chained  out  o'  my  own  pew  by 
Polly  Allen.  Ed  was  behind  me  an'  he  whispered  'That's 
reserved  for  the  family.'  I  give  him  one  look  an'  I  will 
state,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  as  he  wilted.  It  didn't  take  me  long 
to  break  that  daisy-chain  an'  sit  down  in  that  pew,  an'  I 
can  assure  you  as  no  one  asked  me  to  get  up  again. 
Mrs.  Jilkins's  cousins  from  Meadville  come  an'  looked 
at  me  sittin'  there,  but  I  give  them  jus'  one  look 
back  an'  they  went  an'  sat  with  Mrs.  Macy  them- 
selves. A  good  many  other  folks  was  as  surprised  as 
me  over  where  they  had  to  sit,  but  we  soon  had  other  sur- 
prises as  took  the  taste  o'  the  first  clean  out  o'  our  mouths. 

"Just  as  Mrs.  Davison  begin  to  play  the  organ,  Ed 
an'  Johnny  come  down  with   two  clothes-lines   wound 

635 


THE    WOLF   AT    SUSAN'S    DOOR 

'round  with  clematis  an'  tied  us  all  in  where  we  sat. 
Then  they  went  back  an'  we  all  stayed  still  an'  couldn't 
but  wonder  what  under  the  sun  was  to  be  done  to  us 
next.  But  we  didn't  have  long  to  wait,  an'  I  will  say  as 
anythin'  to  beat  Polly's  ideas  I  never  see — no — nor  no 
one  else  neither. 

"  'Long  down  the  aisle,  two  an'  two,  an'  hand  in  hand, 
like  they  thought  they  was  suthin'  pretty  to  look  at, 
come  Ed  an'  Johnny  an'  Henry  Ward  Beecher  an'  Sam 
Duruy,  an'  I  vow  an'  declare,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  I  never  was 
so  nigh  to  laughin'  in  church  in  all  my  life.  They  knowed 
they  was  funny,  too,  an'  their  mouths  an'  eyes  was  tight 
set  sober,  but  some  one  in  the  back  just  had  to  giggle, 
an'  when  we  heard  it  we  knew  as  things  as  wasn't  much 
any  other  day  would  use  us  up  this  day,  sure.  They 
stopped  in  front  an'  lined  up,  two  on  a  side,  an'  then,  for 
all  the  world  like  it  was  a  machine-play,  the  little  door 
opened  an'  out  come  the  minister  an'  solemnly  walked 
down  to  between  them.  I  must  say  we  was  all  more  than 
a  little  disappointed  at  its  only  bein'  the  minister,  an' 
he  must  have  felt  our  feelin's,  for  he  began  to  cough  an' 
clear  up  his  throat  an'  his  little  desk  all  at  once.  Then 
Mrs.  Davison  jerked  out  the  loud  stop  an'  began  to  play 
for  all  she  was  worth,  an'  the  door  behind  banged  an' 
every  one  turned  aroun'  to  see. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  we  saw, — an'  I  will  in  truth  re- 
mark as  such  a  sawin'  we'll  never  probably  get  a  chance 
to  do  again!  Mrs.  Sweet  says  they  practised  it  over 
four  times  at  the  church,  so  they  can't  deny  as  they  meant 
it  all,  an'  you  might  lay  me  crossways  an'  cut  me  into 
chipped  beef  an'  still  I  would  declare  as  I  wouldn't  have 
the  face  to  own  to  havin'  had  any  hand  in  plannin'  any 
such  weddin'. 

"First  come  'Liza  Em'ly  an'  Rachel  Rebecca  hand  in 

636 


ANNE    WARNER 

hand  carryin'  daisies — of  all  things  in  the  world  to  take 
to  a  weddin' — an'  then  come  Brunhilde  Susan,  with  a 
daisy-chain  around  her  neck  an'  her  belt  stuck  full  o' 
daisies  an' — you  can  believe  me  or  not,  jus'  as  you  please, 
Mrs.  Lathrop,  an'  still  it  won't  help  matters  any — an' 
a  daisy  stuck  in  every  button  down  her  back,  an'  daisies 
tangled  up  in  her  hair,  an'  a  bunch  o'  daisies  under  one 
arm. 

"Well,  we  was  nigh  to  overcome  by  Brunhilde  Susan, 
but  we  drawed  some  fresh  breath  an'  kept  on  lookin',  an' 
next  come  Polly  an'  Mr.  Allen.  I  will  say  for  Mr.  Allen 
as  he  seemed  to  feel  the  ridiculousness  of  it  all,  for  a  red- 
der man  I  never  see,  nor  one  as  looked  more  uncomforta- 
ble. He  was  daisied,  too — had  three  in  his  button-hole; 
— but  what  took  us  all  was  the  way  him  an'  Polly 
walked.  I  bet  no  people  gettin'  married  ever  zig-zagged 
like  that  before,  an'  Mrs.  Sweet  says  they  practised  it  by 
countin'  two  an'  then  swingin'  out  to  one  side,  an'  then 
countin'  two  an'  swingin'  out  to  the  other — she  watched 
'em  out  of  her  attic  window  down  through  the  broke 
blind  to  the  church.  Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  to  my  or- 
der o'  thinkin'  countin'  an'  swingin'  is  a  pretty  frame  o' 
mind  to  get  a  husband  in,  but  so  it  was,  an'  we  was  all 
starin'  our  eyes  off  to  beat  the  band  when  the  little  door 
opened  an',  to  crown  everythin'  else,  out  come  the  deacon 
an'  Mr.  Jilkins,  each  with  a  daisy  an'  a  silk  hat,  an'  I 
will  remark,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  as  new-born  kittens  is  blood- 
red  murderers  compared  to  how  innocent  that  hat  o' 
Mr.  Jilkins'  looked.  Any  one  could  see  as  it  wasn't  new, 
but  he  wasn't  new  either,  as  far  as  that  goes,  an'  that  was 
what  struck  me  in  particular  about  the  whole  thing — 
nothin'  an'  nobody  wasn't  any  different  only  for  Polly's 
foolishness  and  the  daisies. 

"Well,  they  sorted  out  an'  begun  to  get  married,  an' 

637 


THE    WOLF    AT    SUSAN'S    DOOR 

us  all  sittin'  lookin'  on  an'  no  more  guessin'  what  was 
comin'  next  than  a  ant  looks  for  a  mornin'  paper.  The 
minister  was  gettin'  most  through  an'  the  deacon  was 
gettin'  out  the  ring,  an'  we  was  lookin'  to  get  up  an' 
out  pretty  quick,  when — my  heavens  alive,  Mrs.  Lathrop, 
I  never  will  forget  that  minute — when  Mr.  Jilkins — poor 
man,  he's  sufferin'  enough  for  it,  Lord  knows! — when 
Mr.  Jilkins  dropped  his  hat! 

"That  very  next  second  him  an'  Ed  an'  Brunhilde 
Susan  all  hopped  an'  yelled  at  once,  an'  the  next  thing  we 
see  was  the  minister  droppin'  his  book  an'  grabbin'  his 
arm  an'  the  deacon  tryin'  madly  to  do  hisself  up  in  Polly's 
veil.  We  would  'a'  all  been  glum  petrified  at  such  goin's 
on  any  other  day,  only  by  that  time  the  last  one  of  us 
was  feelin'  to  hop  and  grab  an'  yell  on  his  own  account. 
Gran'ma  Mullins  was  tryin'  to  slap  herself  with  the  seat 
cushion,  an'  the  way  the  daisies  flew  as  folks  went  over 
an'  under  that  clematis  rope  was  a  caution.  I  got  out  as 
quick  as  I — " 

"But  what — "  interrupted  Mrs.  Lathrop,  her  eyes 
fairly  marble-like  in  their  redundant  curiosity. 

"It  was  wasps!"  said  Susan,  "it  was  a  young  wasps' 
nest  in  Mr.  Jilkins's  hat.  Seems  they  carried  their  hats 
to  church  in  their  hands  'cause  Polly  didn't  want  no  red 
rings  around  'em,  an'  so  he  never  suspected  nothin'  till 
he  dropped  it.  An'  oh,  poor  little  Brunhilde  Susan  in 
them  short  skirts  of  hers — she  might  as  well  have  wore 
a  bee  hive  as  to  be  like  she  is  now.  I  got  off  easy,  an'  you 
can  look  at  me  an'  figure  on  what  them  as  got  it  hard  has 
got  on  them.  Young  Dr.  Brown  went  right  to  work  with 
mud  an'  Polly's  veil  an'  plastered  'em  over  as  fast  as  they 
could  get  into  Mrs.  Sweet's.  Mrs.  Sweet  was  mighty 
obligin'  an'  turned  two  flower-beds  inside  out  an'  let 
every  one  scoop  with  her  kitchen  spoons,  besides  run- 

638 


ANNE    WARNER 

nin'  aroun'  herself  like  she  was  a  slave  gettin'  paid. 
They  took  the  deacon  an'  Polly  right  to  their  own  house. 
They  can't  see  one  another  anyhow,  an'  they  was  most 
all  married  anyway,  so  it  didn't  seem  worth  while  to  wait 
till  the  minister  gets  the  use  of  his  upper  lip  again." 

"Why — "  interrogated  Mrs.  Lathrop. 

"Young  Dr.  Brown  wanted  to,"  said  Susan,  "he 
wanted  to  fill  my  ears  with  mud,  an'  my  eye,  too,  but  I 
didn't  feel  to  have  it  done.  You  can't  die  o'  wasps'  bills, 
an'  you  can  o'  young  Dr.  Brown's — leastways  when  you 
ain't  got  no  money  to  pay  'em,  like  I  ain't  got  just  at 
present." 

"It's — "  said  Mrs.  Lathrop. 

"Yes,"  said  Susan,  "it  struck  me  that  way,  too.  This 
seems  to  be  a  very  unlucky  town.  Anything  as  comes 
seems  to  catch  us  all  in  a  bunch.  The  cow  most  lamed 
the  whole  community  an'  the  automobile  most  broke  its 
back ;  time'll  tell  what'll  be  the  result  o'  these  wasps,  but 
there  won't  be  no  church  Sunday  for  one  thing,  I  know. 

"An'  it  ain't  the  least  o'  my  woes,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  to 
think  as  I've  got  to  sit  an'  smile  on  Mr.  Weskin  to- 
night from  between  two  such  ears  as  I've  got,  for  a  man 
is  a  man,  an'  it  can't  be  denied  as  a  woman  as  is  mainly 
ears  ain't  beguilin'.  Besides,  I  may  in  confidence  state 
to  you,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  as  the  one  as  buzzed  aroun'  my 
head  wan't  really  no  wasp  a-tall  in  comparison  to  the  one 
as  got  under  my  skirts." 

Mrs.  Lathrop's  eyes  were  full  of  sincere  condolence; 
she  did  not  even  imagine  a  smile  as  she  gazed  upon  her 
afflicted  friend. 

"I  must  go,"  said  the  latter,  rising  with  a  groan, 
"seems  like  I  never  will  reach  the  bottom  o'  my  troubles 
this  year.    I  keep  thinkin'  there's  nothin'  left  an'  then  I 

639 


THE    WOLF    AT    SUSAN'S    DOOR 

get  a  wasp  at  each  end  at  once.    Well,  I'll  come  over 
when  Mr.  Weskin  goes — if  I  have  strength." 
Then  she  limped  home. 

It  was  about  nine  that  night  that  she  returned  and 
pounded  vigorously  on  her  friend's  window-pane.  Mrs. 
Lathrop  woke  from  her  rocker-nap,  went  to  the  window 
and  opened  it.  Susan  stood  below  and  the  moon  illumi- 
nated her  smile  and  her  ears  with  its  most  silvery  beams. 

"He's  just  gone!"  she  announced. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Lathrop,  rubbing  her  eyes. 

"He's  gone ;  I  come  over  to  tell  you." 

"What — "  said  Mrs.  Lathrop. 

"I  wouldn't  care  if  my  ears  was  as  big  as  a  elephant's 
now." 

"Why — "  asked  Mrs.  Lathrop. 

"Mrs.  Lathrop,  you  know  as  I  took  them  bonds 
straight  after  father  died  an'  locked  'em  up  an'  I  ain't 
never  unlocked  'em  since?" 

Mrs.  Lathrop  assented  with  a  single  rapt  nod. 

"Well,  when  I  explained  to  Mr.  Weskin  as  I'd  got  to 
have  money  an'  how  was  the  best  way  to  sell  a  bond,  he 
just  looked  at  me,  an'  what  do  you  think  he  said — what 
do  you  think  he  said,  Mrs.  Lathrop  ?" 

Mrs.  Lathrop  hung  far  out  over  the  window-sill — 
her  gaze  was  the  gaze  of  the  ever  earnest  and  interested. 

Susan  stood  below.  Her  face  was  aglow  with  the  joy 
of  the  affluent — her  very  voice  might  have  been  for  once 
entitled  as  silvery. 

"He  said,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  he  said,  'Miss  Clegg,  why 
don't  you  go  down  to  the  bank  and  cut  your  coupons  ?' : 


640 


THE  TWO  PRISONERS 


BY    CAROLYN    WELLS 


Once  upon  a  time  there  were  two  Prisoners  at  the  bar, 
who  endeavored  to  plead  for  themselves  with  Tact  and 
Wisdom. 

One  concealed  certain  Facts  prejudicial  to  his  Cause; 
upon  which  the  Judge  said:  "If  you  had  Confessed  the 
Truth  it  would  have  Biased  me  in  your  Favor.;  as  it  is,  I 
Condemn  you  to  Punishment." 

The  other  stated  his  Case  with  absolute  Truth  and  Sin- 
cerity, concealing  Nothing;  and  the  result  was  that  he 
was  Condemned  for  his  Misdemeanors. 


morals : 


This  Fable  teaches  that  Honesty  is  the  Best  Policy,  and 
that  the  Truth  should  not  Be  spoken  at  All  Times. 


641 


A  MODERN  ADVANTAGE 

BY    CHARLOTTE   BECKER 

One  morning,  when  the  sun  shone  bright 

And  all  the  earth  was  fair, 
I  met  a  little  city  child, 

Whose  ravings  rent  the  air. 


a 


(i 


et 


ti 


I  lucidly  can  penetrate 

"The  Which,"  I  heard  him  say, — 
The  How  is,  wonderfully,  come 

To  clear  the  limpid  way. 

The  sentence,  rarely,  rose  and  fell 
From  ceiling  to  the  floor ; 

Her  words  were  spotlessly  arranged, 
She  gave  me,  strangely,  more." 

What  troubles  you,  my  little  man  ?" 
I  dared  to  ask  him  then, — 

He  fixed  me  with  a  subtle  stare, 
And  said,  "Most  clearly,  when 

You  see  I'm  occupied,  it's  rude 
To  question  of  my  aims — 

I'm  going  to  the  adverb  school 
Of  Mr.  Henry  James !" 


642 


THE  RAGGEDY  MAN 

BY   JAMES    WHITCOMB   RILEY 

O  the  Raggedy  Man!  He  works  fer  Pa ; 
An'  he's  the  goodest  man  ever  you  saw ! 
He  comes  to  our  house  every  day, 
An'  waters  the  horses,  an'  feeds  'em  hay ; 
An'  he  opens  the  shed— an'  we  all  ist  laugh 
When  he  drives  out  our  little  old  wobble-ly  calf ; 
An'  nen — ef  our  hired  girl  says  he  can- 
He  milks  the  cow  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann. — 
Aint  he  a'  awful  good  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy!  Raggedy!  Raggedy  Man! 

W'y,  The  Raggedy  Man— he's  ist  so  good 
He  splits  the  kindlin'  an'  chops  the  wood ; 
An'  nen  he  spades  in  our  garden,  too, 
An'  does  most  things  'at  boys  can't  do  !— 
He  clumbed  clean  up  in  our  big  tree 
An'  shooked  a'  apple  down  fer  me — 
An'  nother'n,  too,  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann— 
An'  nother'n,  too,  fer  The  Raggedy  Man.— 

Aint  he  a'  awful  kind  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy !  Raggedy !   Raggedy  Man ! 

An'  The  Raggedy  Man,  he  knows  most  rhymes 
An'  tells  'em,  ef  I  be  good,  sometimes : 
Knows  'bout  Giunts,  an'  Griffuns,  an'  Elves, 
An'  the  Squidgicum-Squees  'at  swallers  therselves ! 

643 


THE    RAGGEDY    MAN 

An',  wite  by  the  pump  in  our  pasture-lot, 
He  showed  me  the  hole  'at  the  Wunks  is  got, 
'At  lives  'way  deep  in  the  ground,  an'  can 
Turn  into  me,  er  'Lizabuth  Ann ! 
Aint  he  a  funny  old  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy !  Raggedy !  Raggedy  Man ! 

The  Raggedy  Man — one  time  when  he 
Wuz  makin'  a  little  bow-'n'-orry  fer  me. 
Says  "When  you're  big  like  your  Pa  is, 
Air  you  go'  to  keep  a  fine  store  like  his — 
An'  be  a  rich  merchunt — an'  wear  fine  clothes  ?■ 
Er  what  air  you  go'  to  be,  goodness  knows !" 
An'  nen  he  laughed  at  'Lizabuth  Ann, 
An'  I  says  "  'M  go'  to  be  a  Raggedy  Man  !— 
I'm  ist  go'  to  be  a  nice  Raggedy  Man !" 
Raggedy !  Raggedy !  Raggedy  Man ! 


644 


A  MODERN  ECLOGUE 
by  bliss  carman 

She 

If  you  were  ferryman  at  Charon's  ford, 
And  I  came  down  the  bank  and  called  to  you, 
Waved  you  my  hand  and  asked  to  come  aboard, 
And  threw  you  kisses  there,  what  would  you  do  ? 

Would  there  be  such  a  crowd  of  other  girls, 
Pleading  and  pale  and  lonely  as  the  sea, 
You'd  growl  in  your  old  beard,  and  shake  your  curls, 
And  say  there  was  no  room  for  little  me? 

Would  you  remember  each  of  them  in  turn? 
Put  all  your  faded  fancies  in  the  bow, 
And  all  the  rest  before  you  in  the  stern, 
And  row  them  out  with  panic  on  your  brow? 

If  I  came  down  and  offered  you  my  fare 
And  more  beside,  could  you  refuse  me  there? 

He 

If  I  were  ferryman  in  Charon's  place, 
And  ran  that  crazy  scow  with  perilous  skill, 
I  should  be  so  worn  out  with  keeping  trace 
Of  gibbering  ghosts  and  bidding  them  sit  still, 

645 


A    MODERN    ECLOGUE 

If  you  should  come  with  daisies  in  your  hands, 
Strewing  their  petals  on  the  sombre  stream, — 
"He  will  come,"  and  "He  won't  come,"  down  the  lands 
Of  pallid  reverie  and  ghostly  dream, — 

I  would  let  every  clamouring  shape  stand  there, 
And  give  its  shadowy  lungs  free  vent  in  vain, 
While  you  with  earthly  roses  in  your  hair, 
And  I  grown  young  at  sight  of  you  again, 

Went  down  the  stream  once  more  at  half-past  seven 
To  find  some  brand-new  continent  of  heaven. 


646 


A  CABLE-CAR  PREACHER 


BY  SAM  WALTER  FOSS 


"  'Tis  strange  how  thoughtless  people  are," 

A  man  said  in  a  cable-car, 
"How  careless  and  how  thoughtless,"  said 

The  Loud  Man  in  the  cable-car ; 

And  then  the  Man  with  One  Lame  Leg 

Said  softly,  "Pardon  me,  I  beg, 
For  your  valise  is  on  my  knee; 

It's  sore,"  said  he  of  One  Lame  Leg. 


II 


A  woman  then  came  in  with  twins 

And  stumbled  o'er  the  Loud  Man's  shins ; 

And  she  was  tired  half  to  death, 

This  Woman  Who  Came  in  with  Twins ; 
And  then  the  Man  with  One  Lame  Leg 
Said,  "Madam,  take  my  seat,  I  beg." 

She  sat,  with  her  vociferant  Twins, 

And  thanked  the  man  of  One  Lame  Leg. 
647 


A    CABLE-CAR    PREACHER 

III 

"  Tis  strange  how  selfish  people  are, 
They  carry  boorishness  so  far; 

How  selfish,  careless,  thoughtless, "  said 
The  Loud  Man  of  the  cable-car. 
A  Man  then  with  the  Lung  Complaint 
Grew  dizzy  and  began  to  faint ; 

He  reeled  and  swayed  from  side  to  side, 
This  poor  Man  with  the  Lung  Complaint. 


IV 


The  Woman  Who  Came  in  with  Twins 
Said,  "You  can  hardly  keep  your  pins ; 

Pray,  take  my  seat."    He  sat,  and  thanked 
The  Woman  Who  Came  in  with  Twins. 
The  Loud  Man  once  again  began 
To  curse  the  selfishness  of  man ; 

Our  lack  of  manners  he  bewailed 

With  vigor,  did  this  Loud,  Loud  Man. 


'But  still  the  Loud  Man  kept  his  seat ; 

A  Blind  Man  stumbled  o'er  his  feet; 
The  Loud  Man  preached  on  selfishness, 

And  preached,  and  preached,  and  kept  his  seat. 

The  poor  Man  with  the  Lung  Complaint 

Stood  up — a  brave,  heroic  saint — 
And  to  the  Blind  Man,  "Take  my  seat," 

Said  he  who  had  the  Lung  Complaint. 
648 


SAM    WALTER    FOSS 

VI 

The  Loud  Man  preached  on  selfish  sins ; 

The  Woman  Who  Came  in  with  Twins ; 
The  poor  Man  with  the  Lung  Complaint, 

Stood,  while  he  preached  on  selfish  sins. 

And  still  the  Man  with  One  Lame  Leg 

Stood  there  on  his  imperfect  peg 
And  heard  the  screed  on  selfish  sins — 

This  patient  Man  with  One  Lame  Leg. 

VII 

The  Loud  Man  of  the  cable-car 

Sat  still  and  preached  and  traveled  far; 
The  Blind  Man  spake  no  word  unto 

The  Loud  Man  of  the  cable-car. 
The  Lame-Legged  Man  looked  reconciled, 

And  she  with  Twins  her  grief  beguiled, 
The  poor  Man  with  the  Lung  Complaint — 

All  stood,  and  sweetly,  sadly  smiled. 


649 


HOW  TO  KNOW  THE  WILD  ANIMALS 

BY    CAROLYN    WELLS 

If  ever  you  should  go  by  chance 

To  jungles  in  the  East, 
And  if  there  should  to  you  advance 

A  large  and  tawny  beast — 
If  he  roar  at  you  as  you're  dyin', 

You'll  know  it  is  the  Asian  Lion. 

If,  when  in  India  loafing  round, 
A  noble  wild  beast  meets  you, 

With  dark  stripes  on  a  yellow  ground, 
Just  notice  if  he  eats  you. 

This  simple  rule  may  help  you  learn 
The  Bengal  Tiger  to  discern. 

When  strolling  forth,  a  beast  you  view 
Whose  hide  with  spots  is  peppered ; 

As  soon  as  it  has  leapt  on  you, 
You'll  know  it  is  the  Leopard. 

'T  will  do  no  good  to  roar  with  pain, 
He'll  only  lep  and  lep  again. 

If  you  are  sauntering  round  your  yard, 

And  meet  a  creature  there 
Who  hugs  you  very,  very  hard, 

You'll  know  it  is  the  Bear. 
If  you  have  any  doubt,  I  guess 

He'll  give  you  just  one  more  caress. 
650 


CAROLYN    WELLS 

Whene'er  a  quadruped  you  view 

Attached  to  any  tree, 
It  may  be  'tis  the  Wanderoo, 

Or  yet  the  Chimpanzee. 
If  right  side  up  it  may  be  both, 

If  upside  down  it  is  the  Sloth. 

Though  to  distinguish  beasts  of  prey 

A  novice  might  nonplus ; 
Yet  from  the  Crocodile  you  may 

Tell  the  Hyena,  thus  : 
'Tis  the  Hyena  if  it  smile; 

If  weeping,  'tis  the  Crocodile. 

The  true  Chameleon  is  small — 

A  lizard  sort  of  thing; 
He  hasn't  any  ears  at  all 

And  not  a  single  wing. 
If  there  is  nothing  on  the  tree 

'Tis  the  Chameleon  you  see. 


651 


I  REMEMBER,  I  REMEMBER 

BY   PHCEBE   CARY 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

The  house  where  I  was  wed, 
And  the  little  room  from  which  that  night, 

My  smiling  bride  was  led. 
She  didn't  come  a  wink  too  soon, 

Nor  make  too  long  a  stay ; 
But  now  I  often  wish  her  folks 

Had  kept  the  girl  away ! 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

Her  dresses,  red  and  white, 
Her  bonnets  and  her  caps  and  cloaks, — 

They  cost  an  awful  sight ! 
The  "corner  lot"  on  which  I  built, 

And  where  my  brother  met 
At  first  my  wife,  one  washing-day, — 

That  man  is  single  yet ! 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

Where  I  was  used  to  court, 
And  thought  that  all  of  married  life 

Was  just  such  pleasant  sport : — 
My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then, 

No  care  was  on  my  brow ; 
I  scarce  could  wait  to  shut  the  gate, — 

I'm  not  so  anxious  now ! 
652 


PHCEBE    CARY 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

My  dear  one's  smile  and  sigh ; 
I  used  to  think  her  tender  heart 

Was  close  against  the  sky. 
It  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  it  soothes  me  not 
To  know  I'm  farther  off  from  Heaven 

Then  when  she  wasn't  got. 


653 


THE  COUPON  BONDS 

BY   J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE 

(Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ducklow  have  secretly  purchased  bonds 
with  money  that  should  have  been  given  to  their  adopted 
son  Reuben,  who  has  sacrificed  his  health  in  serving  his 
country  as  a  soldier,  and,  going  to  visit  Reuben  on  the 
morning  of  his  return  home,  they  hide  the  bonds  under 
the  carpet  of  the  sitting-room,  and  leave  the  house  in 
charge  of  Taddy,  another  adopted  son.) 

Mr.  Ducklow  had  scarcely  turned  the  corner  of  the 
street,  when,  looking  anxiously  in  the  direction  of  his 
homestead,  he  saw  a  column  of  smoke.  It  was  directly 
over  the  spot  where  he  knew  his  house  to  be  situated.  He 
guessed  at  a  glance  what  had  happened.  The  frightful 
catastrophe  he  foreboded  had  befallen.  Taddy  had  set  the 
house  afire. 

"Them  bonds!  them  bonds!"  he  exclaimed,  distract- 
edly. He  did  not  think  so  much  of  the  house :  house  and 
furniture  were  insured;  if  they  were  burned  the  incon- 
venience would  be  great  indeed,  and  at  any  other  time  the 
thought  of  such  an  event  would  have  been  a  sufficient 
cause  for  trepidation ;  but  now  his  chief,  his  only  anxiety 
was  the  bonds.  They  were  not  insured.  They  would  be 
a  dead  loss.  And,  what  added  sharpness  to  his  pangs, 
they  would  be  a  loss  which  he  must  keep  a  secret,  as  he 
had  kept  their  existence  a  secret, — a  loss  which  he  could 
not  confess,  and  of  which  he  could  not  complain.     Had 

654 


J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE 

he  not  just  given  his  neighbors  to  understand  that  he  had 
no  such  property?  And  his  wife, — was  she  not  at  that 
very  moment,  if  not  serving  up  a  lie  upon  the  subject,  at 
least  paring  the  truth  very  thin  indeed  ? 

"A  man  would  think,"  observed  Ferring,  "that  Duck- 
low  had  some  o'  them  bonds  on  his  hands,  and  got  scaret, 
he  took  such  a  sudden  start.  He  has,  hasn't  he,  Mrs. 
Ducklow  ?" 

"Has  what?"  said  Mrs.  Ducklow,  pretending  igno- 
rance. 

"Some  o'  them  cowpon  bonds.  I  rather  guess  he's  got 
some." 

"You  mean  Gov'ment  bonds?  Ducklow  got  some? 
'.Tain't  at  all  likely  he'd  spec'late  in  them  without  saying 
something  to  me  about  it.  No,  he  couldn't  have  any  with- 
out my  knowing  it,  I'm  sure." 

How  demure,  how  innocent  she  looked,  plying  her 
knitting-needle,  and  stopping  to  take  up  a  stitch !  How 
little  at  that  moment  she  knew  of  Ducklow's  trouble  and 
its  terrible  cause ! 

Ducklow's  first  impulse  was  to  drive  on  and  endeavor 
at  all  hazards  to  snatch  the  bonds  from  the  flames.  His 
next  was  to  return  and  alarm  his  neighbors  and  obtain 
their  assistance.  But  a  minute's  delay  might  be  fatal : 
so  he  drove  on,  screaming,  "Fire !  fire !"  at  the  top  of  his 
voice. 

But  the  old  mare  was  a  slow-footed  animal ;  and  Duck- 
low had  no  whip.  He  reached  forward  and  struck  her 
with  the  reins. 

"Git  up!  git  up! — Fire!  fire!"  screamed  Ducklow. 
"Oh,  them  bonds!  them  bonds!  Why  didn't  I  give  the 
money  to  Reuben  ?    Fire !  fire !  fire !" 

By  dint  of  screaming  and  slapping,  he  urged  her  from 
a  trot  into  a  gallop,  which  was  scarcely  an  improvement 

6?5 


THE  COUPON  BONDS 

as  to  speed,  and  certainly  not  as  to  grace.  It  was  like  the 
gallop  of  an  old  cow.  "Why  don't  ye  go  'long?"  he  cried, 
despairingly. 

Slap !  slap !  He  knocked  his  own  hat  off  with  the  loose 
end  of  the  reins.  It  fell  under  the  wheels.  He  cast  one 
look  behind,  to  satisfy  himself  that  it  had  been  very 
thoroughly  run  over  and  crushed  into  the  dirt,  and  left  it 
to  its  fate. 

Slap!  slap!  "Fire!  fire!"  Canter,  canter,  canter! 
Neighbors  looked  out  of  their  windows,  and,  recognizing 
Ducklow's  wagon  and  old  mare  in  such  an  astonishing 
plight,  and  Ducklow  himself,  without  his  hat,  rising  from 
his  seat  and  reaching  forward  in  wild  attitudes,  brandish- 
ing the  reins,  and  at  the  same  time  rending  the  azure  with 
yells,  thought  he  must  be  insane. 

He  drove  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and,  looking  beyond,  in 
expectation  of  seeing  his  house  wrapped  in  flames,  dis- 
covered that  the  smoke  proceeded  from  a  brush-heap 
which  his  neighbor  Atkins  was  burning  in  a  field  near  by. 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  that  ensued  was  almost  too 
much  for  the  excitable  Ducklow.  His  strength  went  out 
of  him.  For  a  little  while  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  left 
of  him  but  tremor  and  cold  sweat.  Difficult  as  it  had 
been  to  get  the  old  mare  in  motion,  it  was  now  even  more 
difficult  to  stop  her. 

"Why,  what  has  got  into  Ducklow's  old  mare?  She's 
running  away  with  him!  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a 
thing!"  And  Atkins,  watching  the  ludicrous  spectacle 
from  his  field,  became  almost  as  weak  from  laughter  as 
Ducklow  was  from  the  effects  of  fear. 

At  length  Ducklow  succeeded  in  checking  the  old 
mare's  speed  and  in  turning  her  about.  It  was  necessary 
to  drive  back  for  his  hat.  By  this  time  he  could  hear  a 
chorus  of  shouts,  "Fire !  fire !  fire !"  over  the  hill.   He  had 

656 


J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE 

aroused  the  neighbors  as  he  passed,  and  now  they  were 
flocking-  to  extinguish  the  flames. 

"A  false  alarm !  a  false  alarm !"  said  Ducklow,  looking 
marvelously  sheepish,  as  he  met  them.  "Nothing  but 
Atkins's  brush-heap !" 

"Seems  to  me  you  ought  to  have  found  that  out  'fore 
you  raised  all  creation  with  your  yells !"  said  one  hyper- 
bolical fellow.  "You  looked  like  the  Flying  Dutchman ! 
This  your  hat?  I  thought  'twas  a  dead  cat  in  the  road. 
No  fire !  no  fire !" — turning  back  to  his  comrades, — "only 
one  of  Ducklow's  jokes." 

Nevertheless,  two  or  three  boys  there  were  who  would 
not  be  convinced,  but  continued  to  leap  up,  swing  their 
caps,  and  scream  "Fire !"  against  all  remonstrance.  Duck- 
low  did  not  wait  to  enter  his  explanations,  but,  turning 
the  old  mare  about  again,  drove  home  amid  the  laughter 
of  the  by-standers  and  the  screams  of  the  misguided 
youngsters.  As  he  approached  the  house,  he  met  Taddy 
rushing  wildly  up  the  street. 

"Thaddeus  !  Thaddeus !    Where  ye  goin',  Thaddeus?" 

"Goin'  to  the  fire !"  cried  Taddy. 

"There  isn't  any  fire,  boy." 

"Yes,  there  is!  Didn't  ye  hear  'em?  They've  been 
yellin'  like  fury." 

"It's  nothin'  but  Atkins's  brush." 

"That  all?"  And  Taddy  appeared  very  much  disap- 
pointed. "I  thought  there  was  goin'  to  be  some  fun.  I 
wonder  who  was  such  a  fool  as  to  yell  fire  just  for  a 
darned  old  brush-heap !" 

Ducklow  did  not  inform  him. 

"I've  got  to  drive  over  to  town  and  get  Reuben's  trunk. 
You  stand  by  the  mare  while  I  step  in  and  brush  my  hat." 

Instead  of  applying  himself  at  once  to  the  restoration 
of  his  beaver,  he  hastened  to  the  sitting-room,  to  see  that 
the  bonds  were  safe. 

Vol.  4-4  657 


THE    COUPON    BONDS 

"Heavens  and  'arth !"  said  Ducklow. 

The  chair,  which  had  been  carefully  planted  in  the  spot 
where  they  were  concealed,  had  been  removed.  Three  or 
four  tacks  had  been  taken  out,  and  the  carpet  pushed 
from  the  wall.  There  was  straw  scattered  about.  Evi- 
dently Taddy  had  been  interrupted,  in  the  midst  of  his 
ransacking,  by  the  alarm  of  fire.  Indeed,  he  was  even 
now  creeping  into  the  house  to  see  what  notice  Ducklow 
would  take  of  these  evidences  of  his  mischief. 

In  great  trepidation  the  farmer  thrust  in  his  hand  here 
and  there,  and  groped,  until  he  found  the  envelope  pre- 
cisely where  it  had  been  placed  the  night  before,  with  the 
tape  tied  around  it,  which  his  wife  had  put  on  to  prevent 
its  contents  from  slipping  out  and  losing  themselves. 
Great  was  the  joy  of  Ducklow.  Great  also  was  the  wrath 
pf  him  when  he  turned  and  discovered  Taddy. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  stand  by  the  old  mare?" 

"She  won't  stir,"  said  Taddy,  shrinking  away  again. 

"Come  here !"  And  Ducklow  grasped  him  by  the  col- 
lar. 

"What  have  you  been  doin'  ?    Look  at  that !" 

"  'Twan't  me!"  beginning  to  whimper  and  ram  his  fists 
into  his  eyes. 

"Don't  tell  me  'twan't  you !"  Ducklow  shook  him  till 
his  teeth  chattered.  "What  was  you  pullin'  up  the  carpet 
for?" 

"Lost  a  marble!"  sniveled  Taddy. 

"Lost  a  marble !  Ye  didn't  lose  it  under  the  carpet,  did 
ye?  Look  at  all  that  straw  pulled  out!"  shaking  him 
again. 

"Didn't  know  but  it  might  'a'  got  under  the  carpet, 
marbles  roll  so,"  explained  Taddy,  as  soon  as  he  could 
get  his  breath. 

"Wal,  sir," — Ducklow  administered  a  resounding  box 

658 


J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE 

on  his  ear, — "don't  you  do  such  a  thing  again,  if  you  lose 
a  million  marbles !" 

"Hain't  got  a  million!"  Taddy  wept,  rubbing  his 
cheek.  "Hain't  got  but  four!  Won't  ye  buy  me  some 
to-day?" 

"Go  to  that  mare,  and  don't  you  leave  her  again  till  I 
come,  or  I'll  marble  ye  in  a  way  you  won't  like." 

Understanding,  by  this  somewhat  equivocal  form  of 
expression,  that  flagellation  was  threatened,  Taddy 
obeyed,  still  feeling  his  smarting  and  burning  ear. 

Ducklow  was  in  trouble.  What  should  he  do  with  the 
bonds  ?  The  floor  was  no  place  for  them  after  what  had 
happened ;  and  he  remembered  too  well  the  experience  of 
yesterday  to  think  for  a  moment  of  carrying  them  about 
his  person.  With  unreasonable  impatience,  his  mind  re- 
verted to  Mrs.  Ducklow. 

"Why  ain't  she  to  home  ?  These  women  are  forever  a- 
gaddin' !    I  wish  Reuben's  trunk  was  in  Jericho!" 

Thinking  of  the  trunk  reminded  him  of  one  in  the  gar- 
ret, filled  with  old  papers  of  all  sorts, — newspapers,  let- 
ters, bills  of  sale,  children's  writing-books, — accumula- 
tions of  the  past  quarter  of  a  century.  Neither  fire  nor 
burglar  nor  ransacking  youngster  had  ever  molested  those 
ancient  records  during  all  those  five-and-twenty  years. 
A  bright  thought  struck  him. 

"I'll  slip  the  bonds  down  into  that  worthless  heap  o' 
rubbish,  where  no  one  'ull  ever  think  o'  lookin'  for  'em, 
and  resk  'em." 

Having  assured  himself  that  Taddy  was  standing  by 
the  wagon,  he  paid  a  hasty  visit  to  the  trunk  in  the  garret, 
and  concealed  the  envelope,  still  bound  in  its  band  of  tape, 
among  the  papers.  He  then  drove  away,  giving  Taddy 
a  final  charge  to  beware  of  setting  anything  afire. 

He  had  driven  about  half  a  mile,  when  he  met  a  ped- 

659 


THE  COUPON  BONDS 

dler.   There  was  nothing  unusual  or  alarming'  in  such  a 
circumstance,  surely ;  but,  as  Ducklow  kept  on,  it  troubled 

him. 

"He'll  stop  to  the  house,  now,  most  likely,  and  want  to 
trade.  Findin'  nobody  but  Taddy,  there's  no  knowin' 
what  he'll  be  tempted  to  do.  But  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  worry. 
I'll  defy  anybody  to  find  them  bonds.  Besides,  she  may 
be  home  by  this  time.  I  guess  she'll  hear  of  the  fire-alarm 
and  hurry  home :  it'll  be  jest  like  her.  She'll  be  there,  and 
trade  with  the  peddler!"  thought  Ducklow,  uneasily. 
Then  a  frightful  fancy  possessed  him.  "She  has  threat- 
ened two  or  three  times  to  sell  that  old  trunkful  of  papers. 
He'll  offer  a  big  price  for  'em,  and  ten  to  one  she'll  let  him 
have  'em.  Why  didn't  I  think  on't?  What  a  stupid 
blunderbuss  I  be !" 

As  Ducklow  thought  of  it,  he  felt  almost  certain  that 
Mrs.  Ducklow  had  returned  home,  and  that  she  was  bar- 
gaining with  the  peddler  at  that  moment.  He  fancied  her 
smilingly  receiving  bright  tin-ware  for  the  old  papers; 
and  he  could  see  the  tape-tied  envelope  going  into  the  bag 
with  the  rest.  The  result  was  that  he  turned  about  and 
whipped  his  old  mare  home  again  in  terrific  haste,  to 
catch  the  departing  peddler. 

Arriving,  he  found  the  house  as  he  had  left  it,  and 
Taddy  occupied  in  making  a  kite- frame. 
"Did  that  peddler  stop  here?" 
"I  hain't  seen  no  peddler." 
"And  hain't  yer  Ma  Ducklow  been  home,  nuther  ?" 

"No." 

And,  with  a  guilty  look,  Taddy  put  the  kite-frame  be- 
hind him. 

Ducklow  considered.  The  peddler  had  turned  up  a 
cross-street :  he  would  probably  turn  down  again  and  stop 
at  the  house,  after  all :  Mrs.  Ducklow  might  by  that  time 

660 


J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE 

be  at  home:  then  the  sale  of  old  papers  would  be  very- 
likely  to  take  place.  Ducklow  thought  of  leaving-  word 
that  he  did  not  wish  any  old  papers  in  the  house  to  be  sold, 
but  feared  lest  the  request  might  excite  Taddy's  suspi- 
cions. 

"I  don't  see  no  way  but  for  me  to  take  the  bonds  with 
me,"  thought  he,  with  an  inward  groan. 

He  accordingly  went  to  the  garret,  took  the  envelope 
out  of  the  trunk,  and  placed  it  in  the  breast-pocket  of  his 
overcoat,  to  which  he  pinned  it,  to  prevent  it  by  any 
chance  from  getting  out.  He  used  six  large,  strong  pins 
for  the  purpose,  and  was  afterwards  sorry  he  did  not  use 
seven. 

"There's  suthin'  losiri'  out  o'  yer  pocket!"  bawled 
Taddy,  as  he  was  once  more  mounting  the  wagon. 

Quick  as  lightning,  Ducklow  clapped  his  hand  to  his 
breast.  In  doing  so  he  loosed  his  hold  of  the  wagon-box 
and  fell,  raking  his  shin  badly  on  the  wheel. 

"Yer  side-pocket !  It's  one  o'  yer  mittens !"  said  Taddy. 

"You  rascal !    How  you  scared  me !" 

Seating  himself  in  the  wagon,  Ducklow  gently  pulled 
up  his  trousers-leg  to  look  at  the  bruised  part. 

"Got  anything  in  your  boot-leg  to-day,  Pa  Ducklow  ?" 
asked  Taddy,  innocently. 

"Yes, — a  barked  shin ! — all  on  your  account,  too !  Go 
and  put  that  straw  back,  and  fix  the  carpet ;  and  don't  ye 
let  me  hear  ye  speak  of  my  boot-leg  again,  or  I'll  boot-leg 
ye!" 

So  saying,  Ducklow  departed. 

Instead  of  repairing  the  mischief  he  had  done  in  the 
sitting-room,  Taddy  devoted  his  time  and  talents  to  the 
more  interesting  occupation  of  constructing  his  kite- 
frame.  He  worked  at  that  until  Mr.  Grantly,  the  min- 
ister, driving  by,  stopped  to  inquire  how  the  folks  were. 

66 1 


THE    COUPON    BONDS 

"Ain't  to  home:  may  I  ride?"  cried  Taddy,  all  in  a 
breath. 

Mr,  Grantly  was  an  indulgent  old  gentleman,  fond  of 
children:  so  he  said,  "Jump  in;"  and  in  a  minute  Taddy 
had  scrambled  to  a  seat  by  his  side. 

And  now  occurred  a  circumstance  which  Ducklow  had 
foreseen.  The  alarm  of  fire  had  reached  Reuben's ;  and, 
although  the  report  of  its  falseness  followed  immediately, 
Mrs.  Ducklow's  inflammable  fancy  was  so  kindled  by  it 
that  she  could  find  no  comfort  in  prolonging  her  visit. 

"Mr.  Ducklow'll  be  going  for  the  trunk,  and  I  must  go 
home  and  see  to  things,  Taddy's  such  a  fellow  for  mis- 
chief.   I  can  foot  it ;  I  shan't  mind  it." 

And  off  she  started,  walking  herself  out  of  breath  in 
anxiety. 

She  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill  just  in  time  to  see  a 
chaise  drive  away  from  her  own  door. 

"Who  can  that  be?  I  wonder  if  Taddy's  ther'  to 
guard  the  house!  If  anything  should  happen  to  them 
bonds!" 

:  Out  of  breath  as  she  was,  she  quickened  her  pace,  and 
trudged  on,  flushed,  perspiring,  panting,  until  she  reached 
the  house. 

"Thaddeus !"  she  called. 

No  Taddy  answered.  She  went  in.  The  house  was 
deserted.  And,  lo !  the  carpet  torn  up,  and  the  bonds  ab- 
stracted ! 

Mr.  Ducklow  never  would  have  made  such  work,  re- 
moving the  bonds.  Then  somebody  else  must  have  taken 
them,  she  reasoned. 

"The  man  in  the  chaise!"  she  exclaimed,  or  rather 
made  an  effort  to  exclaim,  succeeding  only  in  bringing 
forth  a  hoarse,  gasping  sound.  Fear  dried  up  articula- 
tion.   Vox  faucibus  Juesit. 

662 


J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE 

And  Taddy?  He  had  disappeared,  been  murdered, 
perhaps, — or  gagged  and  carried  away  by  the  man  in  the 
chaise. 

Mrs.  Ducklow  flew  hither  and  thither  (to  use  a  favor- 
ite phrase  of  her  own),  "like  a  hen  with  her  head  cut 
off;"  then  rushed  out  of  the  house  and  up  the  street, 
screaming  after  the  chaise, — 

"Murder !  murder !    Stop  thief !  stop  thief !" 

She  waved  her  hands  aloft  in  the  air  frantically.  Ii 
she  had  trudged  before,  now  she  trotted,  now  she  can- 
tered; but,  if  the  cantering  of  the  old  mare  was  fitly 
likened  to  that  of  a  cow,  to  what  thing,  to  what  manner 
of  motion  under  the  sun,  shall  we  liken  the  cantering  of 
Mrs.  Ducklow?  It  was  original;  it  was  unique;  it  was 
prodigious.  Now,  with  her  frantically  waving  hands, 
and  all  her  undulating  and  flapping  skirts,  she  seemed  a 
species  of  huge,  unwieldy  bird,  attempting  to  fly.  Then 
she  sank  down  into  a  heavy,  dragging  walk, — breath  and 
strength  all  gor  % — no  voice  left  even  to  scream  "mur- 
der!"  Then,  the  awful  realization  of  the  loss  of  the  bonds 
c  nee  more  rushing  over  her,  she  started  up  again.  "Half 
running,  half  flying,  what  progress  she  made!"  Then 
Atkins's  dog  saw  her,  and,  naturally  mistaking  her  for  a 
prodigy,  came  out  at  her,  bristling  up  and  bounding  and 
barking  terrifically. 

"Come  here!"  cried  Atkins,  following  the  dog. 
"What's  the  matter  ?   What's  to  pay,  Mrs.  Ducklow  ?" 

Attempting  to  speak,  the  good  woman  could  only  pant 
and  wheeze. 

"Robbed!"  she  at  last  managed  to  whisper,  amid  the 
yelpings  of  the  cur  that  refused  to  be  silenced. 

"Robbed?    How?    Who?" 

"The  chaise.    Ketch  it." 

Her  gestures  expressed  more  than  her  words ;  and,  At- 

663 


THE    COUPON    BONDS 

kins's  horse  and  wagon,  with  which  he  had  been  drawing 
out  brush,  being  in  the  yard  near-by,  he  ran  to  them, 
leaped  to  the  seat,  drove  into  the  road,  took  Mrs.  Duck- 
low  aboard,  and  set  out  in  vigorous  pursuit  of  the  slow 
two-wheeled  vehicle. 

"Stop,  you,  sir !  Stop,  you,  sir !"  shrieked  Mrs.  Duck- 
low,  having  recovered  her  breath  by  the  time  they  came 
up  with  the  chaise. 

It  stopped,  and  Mr.  Grantly,  the  minister,  put  out  his 
good-natured,  surprised  face. 

"You've  robbed  my  house !    You've  took — " 

Mrs.  Ducklow  was  going  on  in  wild,  accusatory  ac- 
cents, when  she  recognized  the  benign  countenance. 

"What  do  you  say?  I  have  robbed  you?"  he  ex- 
claimed, very  much  astonished. 

"No,  no!  not  you!  You  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing!" 
she  stammered  forth,  while  Atkins,  who  had  laughed  him- 
self weak  at  Mr.  Ducklow's  plight  earlier  in  the  morning, 
now  laughed  himself  into  a  side-ache  ai  Mrs.  Ducklow's 
ludicrous  mistake.  "But  did  you — did  you  stop  at  my 
house  ?    Have  you  seen  our  Thaddeus  ?" 

"Here  I  be,  Ma  Ducklow!"  piped  a  small  voice;  and 
Taddy,  who  had  till  then  remained  hidden,  fearing  pun- 
ishment, peeped  out  of  the  chaise  from  behind  the  broad 
back  of  the  minister. 

"Taddy !  Taddy !  how  came  the  carpet — " 

"I  pulled  it  up,  huntin'  for  a  marble,"  said  Taddy,  as 
she  paused,  overmastered  by  her  emotions. 

"And  the — the  thing  tied  up  in  a  brown  wrapper?" 

"Pa  Ducklow  took  it." 

"Ye  sure?" 

"Yes;  I  seen  him." 

"Oh,  dear !"  said  Mrs.  Ducklow,  "I  never  was  so  beat ! 
Mr.  Grantly,  I  hope — excuse  me — I  didn't  know  what  I 

664 


J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE 

was  about !  Taddy,  you  notty  boy,  what  did  you  leave  the 
house  for  ?  Be  ye  quite  sure  yer  Pa  Ducklow — " 

Taddy  replied  that  he  was  quite  sure,  as  he  climbed 
from  the  chaise  into  Atkins's  wagon.  The  minister  smil- 
ingly remarked  that  he  hoped  she  would  find  no  robbery 
had  been  committed,  and  went  his  way.  Atkins,  driving 
back,  and  setting  her  and  Taddy  down  at  the  Ducklow 
gate,  answered  her  embarrassed  "Much  obleeged  to  ye," 
with  a  sincere  "Not  at  all,"  considering  the  fun  he  had  had 
a  sufficient  compensation  for  his  trouble.  And  thus  ended 
the  morning  adventures,  with  the  exception  of  an  unim- 
portant episode,  in  which  Taddy,  Mrs.  Ducklow,  and 
Mrs.  Ducklow's  rattan  were  the  principal  actors. 


665 


THE  SHOOTING-MATCH 

BY    A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

Shooting-matches  are  probably  nearly  coeval  with  the^ 
colonization  of  Georgia.  They  are  still  common  through- 
out the  Southern  States,  though  they  are  not  as  common 
as  they  were  twenty-five  or  thirty  years  ago.  Chance  led 
me  to  one  about  a  year  ago.  I  was  traveling  in  one  of 
the  northeastern  counties,  when  I  overtook  a  swarthy, 
bright-eyed,  smirky  little  fellow,  riding  a  small  pony,  and 
bearing  on  his  shoulder  a  long,  heavy  rifle,  which,  judg- 
ing from  its  looks,  I  should  say  had  done  service  in  Mor- 
gan's corps. 

"Good  morning,  sir!"  said  I,  reining  up  my  horse  as  I 
came  beside  him. 

"How  goes  it,  stranger?"  said  he,  with  a  tone  of  inde- 
pendence and  self-confidence  that  awakened  my  curiosity 
to  know  a  little  of  his  character. 

"Going  driving?"  inquired  I. 

"Not  exactly,"  replied  he,  surveying  my  horse  with  a 
quizzical  smile;  "I  haven't  been  a  driving  by  myself  for 
a  year  pr  two ;  and  my  nose  has  got  so  bad  lately,  I  can't 
carry  a  cold  trail  ivithout  hounds  to  lielp  me." 

Alone,  and  without  hounds  as  he  was,  the  question  was 
rather  a  silly  one ;  but  it  answered  the  purpose  for  which 
it  was  put,  which  was  only  to  draw  him  into  conver- 
sation, and  I  proceeded  to  make  as  decent  a  retreat  as  I 
could. 

"I  didn't  know,"  said  I,  "but  that  you  were  going  to 
meet  the  huntsmen,  or  going  to  your  stand." 

666 


A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

"Ah,  sure  enough,"  rejoined  he,  "that  mout  be  a  bee,  as 
the  old  woman  said  when  she  killed  a  wasp.  It  seems  to 
me  I  ought  to  know  you." 

"Well,  if  you  ought,  why  don't  you?" 

"What  mout  your  name  be?" 

"It  might  be  anything,"  said  I,  with  a  borrowed  wit, 
for  I  knew  my  man  and  knew  what  kind  of  conversation 
would  please  him  most. 

"Well,  what  wit,  then?" 

"It  is  Hall,"  said  I ;  "but  you  know  it  might  as  well 
have  been  anything  else." 

"Pretty  digging !"  said  he.  "I  find  you're  not  the  fool 
I  took  you  to  be;  so  here's  to  a  better  acquaintance  with 
you." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  returned  I ;  "but  you  must  be  as 
clever  as  I've  been,  and  give  me  your  name." 

"To  be  sure  I  will,  my  old  coon ;  take  it,  take  it,  and 
welcome.    Anything  else  about  me  you'd  like  to  have?" 

"No,"  said  I,  "there's  nothing  else  about  you  worth 
having." 

"Oh,  yes  there  is,  stranger!  Do  you  see  this?"  holding 
up  his  ponderous  rifle  with  an  ease  that  astonished  me. 
"If  you  will  go  with  me  to  the  shooting-match,  and  see 
me  knock  out  the  bull's-eye  with  her  a  few  times,  you'll 
agree  the  old  Soap-stick's  worth  something  when  Billy 
Curlew  puts  his  shoulder  to  her." 

This  short  sentence  was  replete  with  information  to  me. 
It  taught  me  that  my  companion  was  Billy  Curlew;  that 
he  was  going  to  a  shooting-match;  that  he  called  his  rifle 
the  Soap-stick,  and  that  he  was  very  confident  of  winning 
beef  with  her ;  or,  which  is  nearly,  but  not  quite  the  same 
thing,  driving  the  cross  zvith  her. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "if  the  shooting-match  is  not  too  far 
out  of  my  way,  I'll  go  to  it  with  pleasure." 

667 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH 

"Unless  your  way  lies  through  the  woods  from  here," 
said  Billy,  "it'll  not  be  much  out  of  your  way ;  for  it's  only 
a  mile  ahead  of  us,  and  there  is  no  other  road  for  you  to 
take  till  you  get  there ;  and  as  that  thing  you're  riding  in 
ain't  well  suited  to  fast  traveling  among  brushy  knobs,  I 
reckon  you  won't  lose  much  by  going  by.  I  reckon  you 
hardly  ever  was  at  a  shooting-match,  stranger,  from  the 
cut  of  your  coat?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  I,  "many  a  time.  I  won  beef  at  one 
when  I  was  hardly  old  enough  to  hold  a  shot-gun  off- 
hand." 

"Children  don't  go  to  shooting-matches  about  here," 
said  he,  with  a  smile  of  incredulity.  "I  never  heard  of 
but  one  that  did,  and  he  was  a  little  swinge  cat.  He  was 
born  a  shooting,  and  killed  squirrels  before  he  was 
weaned." 

"Nor  did  /  ever  hear  of  but  one,"  replied  I,  "and  that 
one  was  myself." 

"And  where  did  you  win  beef  so  young,  stranger  ?" 

"At  Berry  Adams's." 

"Why,  stop,  stranger,  let  me  look  at  you  good !  Is  your 
name  Lyman  Hall  ?" 

"The  very  same,"  said  I. 

"Well,  dang  my  buttons,  if  you  ain't  the  very  boy  my 
daddy  used  to  tell  me  about.  I  was  too  young  to  recollect 
you  myself;  but  I've  heard  daddy  talk  about  you  many  a 
time.  I  believe  mammy's  got  a  neck-handkerchief  now 
that  daddy  won  on  your  shooting  at  Collen  Reid's  store, 
when  you  were  hardly  knee  high.  Come  along,  Lyman, 
and  I'll  go  my  death  upon  you  at  the  shooting-match, 
with  the  old  Soap-stick  at  your  shoulder." 

"Ah,  Billy,"  said  I,  "the  old  Soap-stick  will  do  much 
better  at  your  own  shoulder.  It  was  my  mother's  notion 
that  sent  me  to  the  shooting-match  at  Berry  Adams's; 

668 


A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

and,  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  it  was  altogether  a  chance 
shot  that  made  me  win  beef;  but  that  wasn't  generally 
known ;  and  most  everybody  believed  that  I  was  carried 
there  on  account  of  my  skill  in  shooting;  and  my  fame 
was  spread  far  and  wide,  I  well  remember.  I  remember, 
too,  perfectly  well,  your  father's  bet  on  me  at  the  store. 
He  was  at  the  shooting-match,  and  nothing  could  make 
him  believe  but  that  I  was  a  great  shot  with  a  rifle  as  well 
as  a  shot-gun.  Bet  he  would  on  me,  in  spite  of  all  I  could 
say,  though  I  assured  him  that  I  had  never  shot  a  rifle  in 
my  life.  It  so  happened,  too,  that  there  were  but  two  bul- 
lets, or,  rather,  a  bullet  and  a  half;  and  so  confident  was 
your  father  in  my  skill,  that  he  made  me  shoot  the  half 
bullet ;  and,  strange  to  tell,  by  another  chance  shot,  I  like 
to  have  drove  the  cross  and  won  his  bet." 

"Now  I  know  you're  the  very  chap,  for  I  heard  daddy 
tell  that  very  thing  about  the  half  bullet.  Don't  say  any- 
thing about  it,  Lyman,  and  darn  my  old  shoes,  if  I  don't 
tare  the  lint  off  the  boys  with  you  at  the  shooting-match. 
They'll  never  'spect  such  a  looking  man  as  you  are  of 
knowing  anything  about  a  rifle.  I'll  risk  your  chance 
shots." 

I  soon  discovered  that  the  father  had  eaten  sour  grapes, 
and  the  son's  teeth  were  on  edge;  for  Billy  was  just  as 
incorrigibly  obstinate  in  his  belief  of  my  dexterity  with  a 
rifle  as  his  father  had  been  before  him. 

We  soon  reached  the  place  appointed  for  the  shooting- 
match.  It  went  by  the  name  of  Sims's  Cross  Roads,  be- 
cause here  two  roads  intersected  each  other ;  and  because, 
from  the  time  that  the  first  had  been  laid  out,  Archibald 
Sims  had  resided  there.  Archibald  had  been  a  justice  of 
the  peace  in  his  day  (and  where  is  the  man  of  his  age  in 
Georgia  who  has  not?)  ;  consequently,  he  was  called 
'Squire  Sims.    It  is  the  custom  in  this  state,  when  a  man 

669 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH 

has  once  acquired  a  title,  civil  or  military,  to  force  it  upon 
him  as  long-  as  he  lives;  hence  the  countless  number  of 
titled  personages  who  are  introduced  in  these  sketches. 

We  stopped  at  the  'squire's  door.  Billy  hastily  dis- 
mounted, gave  me  the  shake  of  the  hand  which  he  had 
been  reluctantly  reserving  for  a  mile  back,  and,  leading 
me  up  to  the  'squire,  thus  introduced  me :  "Uncle  Archy, 
this  is  Lyman  Hall ;  and  for  all  you  see  him  in  these  fine 
clothes,  he's  a  swinge  cat;  a  darn  sight  cleverer  fellow 
than  he  looks  to  be.  Wait  till  you  see  him  lift  the  old  Soap- 
stick,  and  draw  a  bead  upon  the  bull's-eye.  You  gwine  to 
see  fun  here  to-day.  Don't  say  nothing  about  it." 

"Well,  Mr.  Swinge-cat,"  said  the  'squire,  "here's  to  a 
better  acquaintance  with  you,"  offering  me  his  hand. 

"How  goes  it,  Uncle  Archy?"  said  I,  taking  his  hand 
warmly  (for  I  am  always  free  and  easy  with  those  who 
are  so  with  me;  and  in  this  course  I  rarely  fail  to  please). 
"How's  the  old  woman?" 

"Egad,"  said  the  'squire,  chuckling,  "there  you're  too 
hard  for  me ;  for  she  died  two-and-twenty  years  ago,  and 
I  haven't  heard  a  word  from  her  since." 

"What!  and  you  never  married  again?" 

"Never,  as  God's  my  judge!"  (a  solemn  asseveration, 
truly,  upon  so  light  a  subject.) 

"Well,  that's  not  my  fault." 

"No,  nor  it's  not  mine,  wither,"  said  the  'squire. 

Here  we  were  interrupted  by  the  cry  of  another  Rancey 
Sniffle.  "Hello,  here!  All  you  as  wish  to  put  in  for  the 
shoot'n'-match,  come  on  here !  for  the  putt'n'  in's  riddy  to. 
begin." 

About  sixty  persons,  including  mere  spectators,  had 
collected ;  the  most  of  whom  were  more  or  less  obedient 
to  the  call  of  Mealy  Whitecotton,  for  that  was  the  name  of 
the  self-constituted  commander-in-chief.    Some  hastened 

670 


A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

and  some  loitered,  as  they  desired  to  be  first  or  last  on  the 
list ;  for  they  shoot  in  the  order  in  which  their  names  are 
entered. 

The  beef  was  not  present,  nor  is  it  ever  upon  such  oc- 
casions ;  but  several  of  the  company  had  seen  it,  who  all 
concurred  in  the  opinion  that  it  was  a  good  beef,  and  well 
worth  the  price  that  was  set  upon  it — eleven  dollars.  A 
general  inquiry  ran  around,  in  order  to  form  some  opinion 
.as  to  the  number  of  shots  that  would  be  taken;  for,  of 
course,  the  price  of  a  shot  is  cheapened  in  proportion  to 
the  increase  of  that  number.  It  was  soon  ascertained  that 
not  more  than  twenty  persons  would  take  chances;  but 
these  twenty  agreed  to  take  the  number  of  shots,  at 
twenty-five  cents  each. 

The  competitors  now  began  to  give  in  their  names; 
some  for  one,  some  for  two,  three,  and  a  few  for  as  many 
as  four  shots. 

Billy  Curlew  hung  back  to  the  last ;  and  when  the  list 
was  offered  him,  five  shots  remained  undisposed  of. 

"How  many  shots  left  ?"  inquired  Billy. 

"Five,"  was  the  reply. 

"Well,  I  take  'em  all.  Put  down  four  shots  to  me,  and 
one  to  Lyman  Hall,  paid  for  by  William  Curlew." 

I  was  thunder-struck,  not  at  his  proposition  to  pay  for 
my  shot,  because  I  knew  that  Billy  meant  it  as  a  token  of 
friendship,  and  he  would  have  been  hurt  if  I  had  refused 
i to  let  him  do  me  this  favor;  but  at  the  unexpected  an- 
nouncement of  my  name  as  a  competitor  for  beef,  at  least 
one  hundred  miles  from  the  place  of  my  residence.  I  was 
prepared  for  a  challenge  from  Billy  to  some  of  his  neigh- 
bors for  a  private  match  upon  me ;  but  not  for  this. 

I  therefore  protested  against  his  putting  in  for  me,  and 
urged  every  reason  to  dissuade  him  from  it  that  I  could, 
without  wounding  his  feelings. 

671 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH 

"Put  it  down !"  said  Billy,  with  the  authority  of  an  em- 
peror, and  with  a  look  that  spoke  volumes  intelligible  to 
every  by-stander.  "Reckon  I  don't  know  what  I'm 
about?"  Then  wheeling  off,  and  muttering  in  an  under, 
self-confident  tone,  "Dang  old  Roper,"  continued  he,  "if 
he  don't  knock  that  cross  to  the  north  corner  of  creation 
and  back  again  before  a  cat  can  lick  her  foot." 

Had  I  been  king  of  the  cat  tribe,  they  could  not  have 
regarded  me  with  more  curious  attention  than  did  the 
whole  company  from  this  moment.  Every  inch  of  me 
was  examined  with  the  nicest  scrutiny ;  and  some  plainly 
expressed  by  their  looks  that  they  never  would  have  taken 
me  for  such  a  bite.  I  saw  no  alternative  but  to  throw 
myself  upon  a  third  chance  shot ;  for  though,  by  the  rules 
of  the  sport,  I  would  have  been  allowed  to  shoot  by  proxy, 
by  all  the  rules  of  good  breeding  I  was  bound  to  shoot  in 
person.  It  would  have  been  unpardonable  to  disappoint 
the  expectations  which  had  been  raised  on  me.  Unfor- 
tunately, too,  for  me,  the  match  differed  in  one  respect 
from  those  which  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  attending  in 
my  younger  days.  In  olden  times  the  contest  was  carried 
on  chiefly  with  shot-guns,  a  generic  term  which,  in  those 
days,  embraced  three  descriptions  of  firearms:  Indian- 
traders  (a  long,  cheap,  but  sometimes  excellent  kind  of 
gun,  that  mother  Britain  used  to  send  hither  for  traffic 
with  the  Indians),  the  large  musket,  and  the  shot-gun, 
properly  so-called.  Rifles  were,  however,  always  permit- 
ted to  compete  with  them,  under  equitable  restrictions. 
These  were,  that  they  should  be  fired  off-hand,  while  the 
shot-guns  were  allowed  a  rest,  the  distance  being  equal ; 
or  that  the  distance  should  be  one  hundred  yards  for  a 
rifle,  to  sixty  for  the  shot-gun,  the  mode  of  firing  being 
equal. 

But  this  was  a  match  of  rifles  exclusively;  and  these  are 
by  far  the  most  common  at  this  time. 

672 


A.    B.    LOXGSTREET 

Most  of  the  competitors  fire  at  the  same  target ;  which 
is  usually  a  board  from  nine  inches  to  a  foot  wide,  charred 
on  one  side  as  black  as  it  can  be  made  by  fire,  without 
impairing  materially  the  uniformity  of  its  surface ;  on  the 
darkened  side  of  which  is  pegged  a  square  piece  of  white 
paper,  which  is  larger  or  smaller,  according  to  the  dis- 
tance at  which  it  is  to  be  placed  from  the  marksmen.  This 
is  almost  invariably  sixty  yards,  and  for  it  the  paper  is 
reduced  to  about  two  and  a  half  inches  square.  Out  of  the 
center  of  it  is  cut  a  rhombus  of  about  the  width  of  an  inch, 
measured  diagonally;  this  is  the  bull's-eye,  or  diamond, 
as  the  marksmen  choose  to  call  it ;  in  the  center  of  this  is 
the  cross.  But  every  man  is  permitted  to  fix  his  target  to 
his  own  taste;  and  accordingly,  some  remove  one- fourth 
of  the  paper,  cutting  from  the  center  of  the  square  to  the 
two  lower  corners,  so  as  to  leave  a  large  angle  opening 
from  the  center  downward ;  while  others  reduce  the  angle 
more  or  less  :  but  it  is  rarely  the  case  that  all  are  not  satis- 
fied with  one  of  these  figures. 

The  beef  is  divided  into  five  prizes,  or,  as  they  are  com- 
monly termed,  five  quarters — the  hide  and  tallow  count- 
ing as  one.  For  several  years  after  the  revolutionary 
war,  a  sixth  was  added :  the  lead  which  was  shot  in  the 
match.  This  was  the  prize  of  the  sixth  best  shot ;  and  it 
used  to  be  carefully  extracted  from  the  board  or  tree  in 
which  it  was  lodged,  and  afterward  remoulded.  But  this 
grew  out  of  the  exigency  of  the  times,  and  has,  I  believe, 
been  long  since  abandoned  everywhere. 

The  three  master  shots  and  rivals  were  Moses  Firmby, 
Larkin  Spivey  and  Billy  Curlew ;  to  whom  was  added, 
upon  this  occasion,  by  common  consent  and  with  awful 
forebodings,  your  humble  servant. 

The  target  was  fixed  at  an  elevation  of  about  three  feet 
from  the  ground;  and  the  judges  (Captain  Turner  and 

vt  4-7  673 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH 

'Squire  Porter)  took  their  stands  by  it,  joined  by  about 
half  the  spectators. 

The  first  name  on  the  catalogue  was  Mealy  Whitecot- 
ton.  Mealy  stepped  out,  rifle  in  hand,  and  toed  the  mark. 
His  rifle  was  about  three  inches  longer  than  himself,  and 
near  enough  his  own  thickness  to  make  the  remark  of 
Darby  Chislom,  as  he  stepped  out,  tolerably  appropriate : 
"Here  comes  the  corn-stalk  and  the  sucker  I"  said  Darby. 

"Kiss  my  foot !"  said  Mealy.  "The  way  I'll  creep  into 
•jX-hat  bull's-eye's  a  fact." 

"You'd  better  creep  into  your  hind  sight,"  said  Darby. 
Mealy  raised  and  fired. 

"A  pretty  good  shot,  Mealy!"  said  one. 

"Yes,  a  blamed  good  shot !"  said  a  second. 

"Well  done,  Meal !"  said  a  third. 

I  was  rejoiced  when  one  of  the  company  inquired, 
"Where  is  it  ?"  for  I  could  hardly  believe  they  were  found- 
ing these  remarks  upon  the  evidence  of  their  senses. 

"Just  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  bull's-eye,"  was  the 
reply. 

I  looked  with  all  the  power  of  my  eyes,  but  was  unable 
to  discover  the  least  change  in  the  surface  of  the  paper. 
Their  report,  however,  was  true;  so  much  keener  is  the 
vision  of  a  practiced  than  an  unpracticed  eye. 

The  next  in  order  was  Hiram  Baugh.  Hiram  was  like 
some  race-horses  which  I  have  seen ;  he  was  too  good  not 
i  to  contend  for  every  prize,  and  too  good  for  nothing  ever 
to  win  one. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  as  he  came  to  the  mark,  "I  don't 
say  that  I'll  win  beef;  but  if  my  piece  don't  blow,  I'll  eat 
the  paper,  or  be  mighty  apt  to  do  it,  if  you'll  b'lieve  my 
racket.  My  powder  are  not  good  powder,  gentlemen;  I 
bought  it  thum  (from)  Zeb  Daggett,  and  gin  him  three- 
quarters  of  a  dollar  a  pound  for  it ;  but  it  are  not  what  I 

674 


A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

call  good  powder,  gentlemen ;  but  if  old  Buck-killer  burns 
it  clear,  the  boy  you  call  Hiram  Baugh  eat's  paper,  or 
comes  mighty  near  it." 

"Well,  blaze  away,"  said  Mealy,  "and  be  d— d  to  you, 
and  Zeb  Daggett,  and  your  powder,  and  Buck-killer,  and 
your  powder-horn  and  shot-pouch  to  boot!  How  long 
you  gwine  stand  thar  talking  'fore  you  shoot?" 

"Never  mind,"  said  Hiram,  "I  can  talk  a  little  and 
shoot  a  little,  too,  but  that's  nothin*.   Here  goes!" 

Hiram  assumed  the  figure  of  a  note  of  interrogation, 
took  a  long  sight,  and  fired. 

"I've  eat  paper,"  said  he,  at  the  crack  of  the  gun,  with- 
out looking,  or  seeming  to  look,  toward  the  target. 
"Buck-killer  made  a  clear  racket.  Where  am  I,  gentle- 
men?" 

"You're  just  between  Mealy  and  the  diamond,"  was  the 

reply. 

"I  said  I'd  eat  paper,  and  I've  done  it;  haven't  I,  gen- 
tlemen ?" 

"And  'spose  you  have!"  said  Mealy,  "what  do  that 
'mount  to  ?  You'll  not  win  beef,  and  never  did." 

"Be  that  as  it  mout  be,  I've  beat  Meal  'Cotton  mighty 
easy ;  and  the  boy  you  call  Hiram  Baugh  are  able  to  do  it." 

"And  what  do  that  'mount  to?  Who  the  devil  an't  able 
to  beat  Meal  'Cotton !  I  don't  make  no  pretense  of  bein' 
nothin'  great,  no  how;  but  you  always  makes  out  as  if 
you  were  gwine  to  keep  'em  makin'  crosses  for  you  con- 
stant, and  then  do  nothin'  but  'eat  paper'  at  last;  and 
that's  a  long  way  from  eatin'  beef,  'cordin'  to  Meal  'Cot- 
ton's notions,  as  you  call  him." 

Simon  Stow  was  now  called  on. 

"Oh,  Lord !"  exclaimed  two  or  three :  "now  we  have  it. 
It'll  take  him  as  long  to  shoot  as  it  would  take  'Squire 
Dobbins  to  run  round  a  track  o'  land." 

675 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH 

"Good-by,  boys,"  said  Bob  Martin. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Bob?" 

"Going  to  gather  in  my  crop;  I'll  be  back  again  though 
by  the  time  Sime  Stow  shoots." 

Simon  was  used  to  all  this,  and  therefore  it  did  not  dis- 
concert him  in  the  least.  He  went  off  and  brought  his  own 
target,  and  set  it  up  with  his  own  hand. 

He  then  wiped  out  his  rifle,  rubbed  the  pan  with  his 
hat,  drew  a  piece  of  tow  through  the  touch-hole  with  his 
wiper,  filled  his  charger  with  great  care,  poured  the  pow- 
der into  the  rifle  with  equal  caution,  shoved  in  with  his 
finger  the  two  or  three  vagrant  grains  that  lodged  round 
the  mouth  of  his  piece,  took  out  a  handful  of  bullets, 
looked  them  all  over  carefully,  selected  one  without  flaw 
or  wrinkle,  drew  out  his  patching,  found  the  most  even 
part  of  it,  sprung  open  the  grease-box  in  the  breech  of  his 
rifle;  took  up  just  so  much  grease,  distributed  it  with 
great  equality  over  the  chosen  part  of  his  patching,  laid 
it  over  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle,  grease  side  down,  placed 
his  ball  upon  it,  pressed  it  a  little,  then  took  it  up  and 
turned  the  neck  a  little  more  perpendicularly  downward, 
placed  his  knife  handle  on  it,  just  buried  it  in  the  mouth 
of  the  rifle,  cut  off  the  redundant  patching  just  above  the 
bullet,  looked  at  it,  and  shook  his  head  in  token  that  he 
had  cut  off  too  much  or  too  little,  no  one  knew  which, 
sent  down  the  ball,  measured  the  contents  of  his  gun  with 
his  first  and  second  fingers  on  the  protruding  part  of  the 
ramrod,  shook  his  head  again,  to  signify  there  was  too 
much  or  too  little  powder,  primed  carefully,  placed  an 
arched  piece  of  tin  over  the  hind  sight  to  shade  it,  took 
his  place,  got  a  friend  to  hold  his  hat  over  the  foresight 
to  shade  it,  took  a  very  long  sight,  fired,  and  didn't  even 
eat  the  paper. 

"My  piece  was  badly  loadned"  said  Simon,  when  he 
learned  the  place  of  his  ball. 

676 


A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

"Oh,  you  didn't  take  time,"  said  Mealy.  "No  man  can 
shoot  that's  in  such  a  hurry  as  you  is.  I'd  hardly  got  to 
sleep  'fore  I  heard  the  crack  o'  the  gun." 

The  next  was  Moses  Firmby.  He  was  a  tall,  slim  man, 
of  rather  sallow  complexion ;  and  it  is  a  singular  fact,  that 
though  probably  no  part  of  the  world  is  more  healthy  than 
the  mountainous  parts  of  Georgia,  the  mountaineers  have 
not  generally  robust  frames  or  fine  conplexions :  they  are, 
however,  almost  inexhaustible  by  toil. 

Moses  kept  us  not  long  in  suspense.  His  rifle  was  al- 
ready charged,  and  he  fixed  it  upon  the  target  with  a 
steadiness  of  nerve  and  aim  that  was  astonishing  to  me 
and  alarming  to  all  the  rest.  A  few  seconds,  and  the  re- 
port of  his  rifle  broke  the  deathlike  silence  which  pre- 
vailed. 

"No  great  harm  done  yet,"  said  Spivey,  manifestly  re- 
lieved from  anxiety  by  an  event  which  seemed  to  me  bet- 
ter calculated  to  produce  despair.  Firmby's  ball  had  cut 
out  the  lower  angle  of  the  diamond,  directly  on  a  right 
line  with  the  cross. 

Three  or  four  followed  him  without  bettering  his  shot ; 
all  of  whom,  however,  with  one  exception,  "eat  the  paper." 

It  now  came  to  Spivey's  turn.  There  was  nothing  re- 
markable in  his  person  or  manner.  He  took  his  place, 
lowered  his  rifle  slowly  from  a  perpendicular  until  it  came 
on  a  line  with  the  mark,  held  it  there  like  a  vice  for  a  mo- 
ment and  fired. 

"Pretty  sevigroits,  but  nothing  killing  yet,"  said  Billy 
Curlew,  as  he  learned  the  place  of  Spivey's  ball. 

Spivey's  ball  had  just  broken  the  upper  angle  of  the 
diamond ;  beating  Firmby  about  half  its  width. 

A  few  more  shots,  in  which  there  was  nothing  remark- 
able, brought  us  to  Billy  Curlew.  Billy  stepped  out  with 
much  confidence,  and  brought  the  Soap-stick  to  an  order, 

677 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH 

while  he  deliberately  rolled  up  his  shirt  sleeves.  Had  I 
judged  Billy's  chance  of  success  from  the  looks  of  his  gun, 
I  should  have  said  it  was  hopeless.  The  stock  of  Soap- 
stick  seemed  to  have  been  made  with  a  case-knife;  and 
had  it  been,  the  tool  would  have  been  but  a  poor  apology 
for  its  clumsy  appearance.  An  auger-hole  in  the  breech 
served  for  a  grease-box ;  a  cotton  string  assisted  a  single 
screw  in  holding  on  the  lock ;  and  the  thimbles  were  made, 
one  of  brass,  one  of  iron,  and  one  of  tin. 

"Where's  Lark  Spivey's  bullet?"  called  out  Billy  to  the 
judges,  as  he  finished  rolling  up  his  sleeves. 

"About  three-quarters  of  an  inch  from  the  cross,"  was 
the  reply. 

"Well,  clear  the  way!  the  Soap-stick's  coming,  and 
she'll  be  along  in  there  among  'em  presently." 

Billy  now  planted  himself  astraddle,  like  an  inverted  V; 
shot  forward  his  left  hip,  drew  his  body  back  to  an  angle 
of  about  forty-five  degrees  with  the  plane  of  the  horizon, 
brought  his  cheek  down  close  to  the  breech  of  old  Soap- 
stick,  and  fixed  her  upon  the  mark  with  untrembling  hand. 
His  sight  was  long,  and  the  swelling  muscles  of  his  left 
arm  led  me  to  believe  that  he  was  lessening  his  chance  of 
success  with  every  half  second  that  he  kept  it  burdened 
with  his  ponderous  rifle;  but  it  neither  flagged  nor  wa- 
vered until  Soap-stick  made  her  report. 

"Where  am  I?"  said  Billy,  as  the  smoke  rose  from  be- 
fore his  eye. 

"You've  jist  touched  the  cross  on  the  lower  side,"  was 
the  reply  of  one  of  the  judges. 

"I  was  afraid  I  was  drawing  my  bead  a  leetle  too  fine," 
said  Billy.  "Now,  Lyman,  you  see  what  the  Soap-stick 
can  do.  Take  her,  and  show  the  boys  how  you  used  to  do 
when  you  was  a  baby." 

I  begged  to  reserve  my  shot  to  the  last ;  pleading,  rather 

678 


A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

sophistically,  that  it  was,  in  point  of  fact,  one  of  the 
Billy's  shots.  My  plea  was  rather  indulged  than  sus- 
tained, and  the  marksmen  who  had  taken  more  than  one 
shot  commenced  the  second  round.  This  round  was  a 
manifest  improvement  upon  the  first.  The  cross  was 
driven  three  times :  once  by  Spivey,  once  by  Firmby,  and 
once  by  no  less  a  personage  than  Mealy  Whitecotton, 
whom  chance  seemed  to  favor  for  this  time,  merely  that 
he  might  retaliate  upon  Hiram  Baugh ;  and  the  bull's-eye 
was  disfigured  out  of  all  shape. 

The  third  and  fourth  rounds  were  shot.  Billy  dis- 
charged his  last  shot,  which  left  the  rights  of  parties  thus : 
Billy  Curlew  first  and  fourth  choice,  Spivey  second,  Firm- 
by  third  and  Whitecotton  fifth.  Some  of  my  readers  may 
perhaps  be  curious  to  learn  how  a  distinction  comes  to 
be  made  between  several,  all  of  whom  drive  the  cross. 
The  distinction  is  perfectly  natural  and  equitable. 
Threads  are  stretched  from  the  uneffaced  parts  of  the  once 
intersecting  lines,  by  means  of  which  the  original  position 
of  the  cross  is  precisely  ascertained.  Each  bullet-hole  be- 
ing nicely  pegged  up  as  it  is  made,  it  is  easy  to  ascertain 
its  circumference.  To  this  I  believe  they  usually,  if  not 
invariably,  measure,  where  none  of  the  balls  touch  the 
cross ;  but  if  the  cross  be  driven,  they  measure  from  it  to 
the  center  of  the  bullet-hole.  To  make  a  draw  shot,  there- 
fore, between  two  who  drive  the  cross,  it  is  necessary  that 
the  center  of  both  balls  should  pass  directly  through  the 
cross ;  a  thing  that  very  rarely  happens. 

The  Bite  alone  remained  to  shoot.  Billy  wiped  out  his 
rifle  carefully,  loaded  her  to  the  top  of  his  skill,  and 
handed  her  to  me.  "Now,"  said  he,  "Lyman,  draw  a  fine 
bead,  but  not  too  fine;  for  Soap-stick  bears  up  her  ball 
well.  Take  care  and  don't  touch  the  trigger  until  you've 
got  your  bead ;  for  she's  spring-trigger'd  and  goes  mighty 

679 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH 

easy:  but  you  hold  her  to  the  place  you  want  her,  and  if 
she  don't  go  there,  dang  old  Roper." 

I  took  hold  of  Soap-stick,  and  lapsed  immediately  into 
the  most  hopeless  despair.  I  am  sure  I  never  handled  as 
heavy  a  gun  in  all  my  life.  "Why,  Billy,"  said  I,  "you 
little  mortal,  you!  what  do  you  use  such  a  gun  as  this 
for?" 

"Look  at  the  bull's-eye  yonder !"  said  he. 

"True,"  said  I,  "but  /  can't  shoot  her ;  it  is  impossible." 

"Go  'long,  you  old  coon !"  said  Billy ;  "I  see  what  you're 
at ;"  intimating  that  all  this  was  merely  to  make  the  com- 
ing shot  the  more  remarkable.  "Daddy's  little  boy  don't 
shoot  anything  but  the  old  Soap-stick  here  to-day,  I 
know." 

The  judges,  I  knew,  were  becoming  impatient,  and, 
withal,  my  situation  was  growing  more  embarrassing 
every  second ;  so  I  e'en  resolved  to  try  the  Soap-stick  with- 
out further  parley. 

I  stepped  out,  and  the  most  intense  interest  was  excited 
all  around  me,  and  it  flashed  like  electricity  around  the 
target,  as  I  judged  from  the  anxious  gaze  of  all  in  that 
direction. 

Policy  dictated  that  I  should  fire  with  a  falling  rifle, 
and  I  adopted  this  mode;  determining  to  fire  as  soon  as 
the  sights  came  on  a  line  with  the  diamond,  bead  or  no 
bead.  Accordingly,  I  commenced  lowering  old  Soap- 
stick;  but,  in  spite  of  all  my  muscular  powers,  she  was 
strictly  obedient  to  the  laws  of  gravitation,  and  came 
down  with  a  uniformly  accelerated  velocity.  Before  I 
could  arrest  her  downward  flight,  she  had  not  only  passed 
the  target,  but  was  making  rapid  encroachments  on  my 
own  toes. 

"Why,  he's  the  weakest  man  in  the  arms  I  ever  seed," 
said  one,  in  a  half  whisper. 

680 


A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

"It's  only  his  fun,"  said  Billy;  "I  know  him." 

"It  may  be  fun,"  said  the  other,  "but  it  looks  mightily 
like  yearnest  to  a  man  up  a  tree." 

I  now.  of  course,  determined  to  reverse  the  mode  of  fir- 
ing, and  put  forth  all  my  physical  energies  to  raise  Soap- 
stick  to  the  mark.  The  effort  silenced  Billy,  and  gave 
tongue  to  all  his  companions.  I  had  just  strength  enough 
to  master  Soap-stick's  obstinate  proclivity,  and,  conse- 
quently, my  nerves  began  to  exhibit  palpable  signs  of  dis- 
tress with  her  first  imperceptible  movement  upward.  A 
trembling  commenced  in  my  arms;  increased,  and  ex- 
tended rapidly  to  my  body  and  lower  extremities ;  so  that, 
by  the  time  that  I  had  brought  Soap-stick  up  to  the  mark, 
I  was  shaking  from  head  to  foot,  exactly  like  a  man  under 
the  continued  action  of  a  strong  galvanic  battery.  In  the 
meantime  my  friends  gave  vent  to  their  feelings  freely. 

"I  swear  poin'  blank,"  said  one,  "that  man  can't  shoot." 

"He  used  to  shoot  well,"  said  another ;  "but  can't  now, 
nor  never  could." 

"You  better  git  away  from  'bout  that  mark !"  bawled  a 
third,  "for  I'll  be  dod  darned  if  Broadcloth  don't  give 
some  of  you  the  dry  gripes  if  you  stand  too  close  thare." 

"The  stranger's  got  the  peedoddles,"  said  a  fourth,  with 
humorous  gravity. 

"If  he  had  bullets  enough  in  his  gun,  he'd  shoot  a  ring 
round  the  bull's-eye  big  as  a  spinning  wheel,"  said  a  fifth. 

As  soon  as  I  found  that  Soap-stick  was  high  enough 
(  for  I  made  no  farther  use  of  the  sights  than  to  ascertain 
this  fact),  I  pulled  trigger,  and  off  she  went.  I  have  al- 
ways found  that  the  most  creditable  way  of  relieving  my- 
self of  derision  was  to  heighten  it  myself  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. It  is  a  good  plan  in  all  circles,  but  by  far  the  best 
which  can  be  adopted  among  the  plain,  rough  farmers  of 
the  country.  Accordingly,  I  brought  old  Soap-stick  to  an 

68 1 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH 

order  with  an  air  of  triumph ;  tipped  Billy  a  wink,  and  ob- 
served, "Now,  Billy,  's  your  time  to  make  your  fortune. 
Bet  'em  two  to  one  that  I've  knocked  out  the  cross." 

"No,  I'll  be  dod  blamed  if  I  do,"  said  Billy;  "but  I'll 
bet  you  two  to  one  that  you  hain't  hit  the  plank." 

"Ah,  Billy,"  said  I,  "I  was  joking  about  betting,  for  I 
never  bet ;  nor  would  I  have  you  to  bet :  indeed,  I  do  not 
feel  exactly  right  in  shooting  for  beef ;  for  it  is  a  species 
of  gaming  at  last :  but  I'll  say  this  much :  if  that  cross 
isn't  knocked  out,  I'll  never  shoot  for  beef  again  as  long 
as  I  live." 

"By  dod,"  said  Mealy  Whitecotton,  "you'll  lose  no 
great  things  at  that." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "I  reckon  I  know  a  little  about  wab- 
bling. Is  it  possible,  Billy,  a  man  who  shoots  as  well  as 
you  do,  never  practiced  shooting  with  the  double  wabble  ? 
It's  the  greatest  take  in  the  world  when  you  learn  to  drive 
the  cross  with  it.  Another  sort  for  getting  bets  upon,  to 
the  drop-sight,  with  a  single  wabble !  And  the  Soap-stick's 
the  very  yarn  for  it." 

"Tell  you  what,  stranger,"  said  one,  "you're  too  hard 
for  us  all  here.  We  never  hearn  o'  that  sort  o'  shoot'n'  in 
these  parts." 

"Well,"  returned  I,  "you've  seen  it  now,  and  I'm  the 
boy  that  can  do  it." 

The  judges  were  now  approaching  with  the  target,  and 
a  singular  combination  of  circumstances  had  kept  all  my 
party  in  utter  ignorance  of  the  result  of  my  shot.  Those 
about  the  target  had  been  prepared  by  Billy  Curlew  for  a 
great  shot  from  me;  their  expectations  had  received  as- 
surance from  the  courtesy  which  had  been  extended  to 
me;  and  nothing  had  happened  to  disappoint  them  but 
the  single  caution  to  them  against  the  "dry  gripes,"  which 
was  as  likely  to  have  been  given  in  irony  as  in  earnest ; 

682 


A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

for  my  agonies  under  the  weight  of  the  Soap-stick  were 
either  imperceptible  to  them  at  the  distance  of  sixty  yards, 
or,  being  visible,  were  taken  as  the  flourishes  of  an  expert 
who  wished  to  "astonish  the  natives."  The  other  party 
did  not  think  the  direction  of  my  ball  worth  the  trouble 
of  a  question;  or  if  they  did,  my  airs  and  harangue  had 
put  the  thought  to  flight  before  it  was  delivered.  Conse- 
quently, they  were  all  transfixed  with  astonishment  when 
the  judges  presented  the  target  to  them,  and  gravely  ob- 
served, "It's  only  second  best,  after  all  the  fuss." 

"Second  best !"  exclaimed  I,  with  uncontrollable  trans- 
ports. 

The  whole  of  my  party  rushed  to  the  target  to  have  the 
evidence  of  their  senses  before  they  would  believe  the  re- 
port; but  most  marvelous  fortune  decreed  that  it  should 
be  true.  Their  incredulity  and  astonishment  were  most 
fortunate  for  me;  for  they  blinded  my  hearers  to  the 
real  feelings  with  which  the  exclamation  was  uttered,  and 
allowed  me  sufficient  time  to  prepare  myself  for  making 
the  best  use  of  what  I  had  said  before  with  a  very  differ- 
ent object. 

"Second  best!"  reiterated  I,  with  an  air  of  despond- 
ency, as  the  company  turned  from  the  target  to  me.  "Sec- 
ond best,  only  ?  Here,  Billy,  my  son,  take  the  old  Soap- 
stick  ;  she's  a  good  piece,  but  I'm  getting  too  old  and  dim- 
sighted  to  shoot  a  rifle,  especially  with  the  drop-sight  and 
double  wabbles." 

"Why,  good  Lord  a'mighty!"  said  Billy,  with  a  look 
that  baffles  all  description,  "an't  you  driv  the  cross?" 

"Oh,  driv  the  cross!"  rejoined  I,  carelessly.  "What's 
that!  Just  look  where  my  ball  is!  I  do  believe  in  my 
soul  its  center  is  a  full  quarter  of  an  inch  from  the  cross. 
I  wanted  to  lay  the  center  of  the  bullet  upon  the  cross, 
just  as  if  you'd  put  it  there  with  your  fingers." 

683 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH 

Several  received  this  palaver  with  a  contemptuous  but 
very  appropriate  curl  of  the  nose ;  and  Mealy  Whitecotton 
offered  to  bet  a  half  pint  "that  I  couldn't  do  the  like  again 
with  no  sort  o'  wabbles,  he  didn't  care  what."  But  I  had 
already  fortified  myself  on  this  quarter  of  my  morality.  A 
decided  majority,  however,  were  clearly  of  opinion  that 
I  was  serious ;  and  they  regarded  me  as  one  of  the 
wonders  of  the  world.  Billy  increased  the  majority  by 
now  coming  out  fully  with  my  history,  as  he  had  received 
it  from  his  father ;  to  which  I  listened  with  quite  as  much 
astonishment  as  any  other  one  of  his  hearers.  He  begged 
me  to  go  home  with  him  for  the  night,  or,  as  he  expressed 
it,  "to  go  home  with  him  and  swap  lies  that  night,  and  it 
shouldn't  cost  me  a  cent;"  the  true  reading  of  which  is, 
that  if  I  would  go  home  with  him,  and  give  him  the  pleas- 
ure of  an  evening's  chat  about  old  times,  his  house  should 
be  as  free  to  me  as  my  own.  But  I  could  not  accept  his 
hospitality  without  retracing  five  or  six  miles  of  the  road 
which  I  had  already  passed,  and  therefore  I  declined  it. 

"Well,  if  you  won't  go,  what  must  I  tell  the  old  woman 
for  you,  for  she'll  be  mighty  glad  to  hear  from  the  boy 
that  won  the  silk  handkerchief  for  her,  and  I  expect  she'll 
lick  me  for  not  bringing  you  home  with  me." 

"Tell  her,"  said  I,  "that  I  send  her  a  quarter  of  beef 
which  I  won,  as  I  did  the  handkerchief,  by  nothing  in  the 
world  but  mere  good  luck." 

"Hold  your  jaw,  Lyman!"  said  Billy;  "I  an't  a  gwine 
to  tell  the  old  woman  any  such  lies;  for  she's  a  reg'lar 
built  Meth'dist." 

As  I  turned  to  depart,  "Stop  a  minute,  stranger!"  said 
one:  then  lowering  his  voice  to  a  confidential  but  dis- 
tinctly audible  tone,  "What  you  offering  for?"  continued 
he.  I  assured  him  I  was  not  a  candidate  for  anything; 
that  I  had  accidentally  fallen  in  with  Billy  Curlew,  who 

684 


A.    B.    LONGSTREET 

begged  me  tc  come  with  him  to  the  shooting-match,  and, 
as  it  lay  right  on  my  road,  I  had  stopped.  "Oh,"  said  he, 
with  a  conciliatory  nod,  "if  you're  up  for  anything,  you 
needn't  be  mealy-mouthed  about  it  'fore  us  boys ;  for  we'll 
all  go  in  for  you  here  up  to  the  handle." 

"Yes,"  said  Billy,  "dang  old  Roper  if  we  don't  go  our 
death  for  you,  no  matter  who  offers.  If  ever  you  come  out 
for  anything,  Lyman,  jist  let  the  boys  of  Upper  Hogthief 
know  it,  and  they'll  go  for  you  to  the  hilt,  against  crea- 
tion, tit  or  no  tit,  that's  the  tatur." 

I  thanked  them  kindly,  but  repeated  my  assurances. 
The  reader  will  not  suppose  that  the  district  took  its  name 
from  the  character  of  the  inhabitants.  In  almost  every 
county  in  the  state  there  is  some  spot  or  district  which 
bears  a  contemptuous  appellation,  usually  derived  from 
local  rivalships,  or  from  a  single  accidental  circumstance. 


685 


DESOLATION* 

BY    TOM    MASSON 

Somewhat  back  from  the  village  street 
Stands  the  old-fashioned  country  seat. 
Across  its  antique  portico 
Tall  poplar  trees  their  shadows  throw. 
And  there  throughout  the  livelong  day, 
Jemima  plays  the  pi-a-na. 

Do,  re,  mi, 

Mi,  re,  do. 

In  the  front  parlor,  there  it  stands, 
And  there  Jemima  plies  her  hands, 
While  her  papa  beneath  his  cloak, 
Mutters  and  groans :  "This  is  no  joke!" 
And  swears  to  himself  and  sighs,  alas ! 
With  sorrowful  voice  to  all  who  pass. 

Do,  re,  mi, 

Mi,  re,  do. 

Through  days  of  death  and  days  of  birth 
She  plays  as  if  she  owned  the  earth. 
Through  every  swift  vicissitude 
She  drums  as  if  it  did  her  good, 
And  still  she  sits  from  morn  till  night 
And  plunks  away  with  main  and  might, 

Do,  re,  mi, 

Mi,  re,  do. 

*  By  permission  of  Life  Publishing  Company. 

686 


TOM    MASSON 

In  that  mansion  used  to  be 
Free-hearted  hospitality ; 
But  that  was  many  years  before 
Jemima  monkeyed  with  the  score. 
When  she  began  her  daily  plunk, 
Into  their  graves  the  neighbors  sunk. 

Do,  re,  mi, 

Mi,  re,  do. 

To  other  worlds  they've  long  since  fled, 
All  thankful  that  they're  safely  dead. 
They  stood  the  racket  while  alive 
Until  Jemima  rose  at  five. 
And  then  they  laid  their  burdens  down, 
And  one  and  all  they  skipped  the  town. 

Do,  re,  mi, 

Mi,  re,  do. 


687 


CRANKIDOXOLOGY* 

BY    WALLACE   IRWIN 

(Being  a  Mental  Attitude  from  Bernard  Pshaw) 

It's  wrong  to  be  thoroughly  human, 

It's  stupid  alone  to  be  good, 
And  why  should  the  "virtuous"  woman 

Continue  to  do  as  she  should? 

(It's  stupid  to  do  as  you  should!) 

For  I'd  rather  be  famous  than  pleasant, 
I'd  rather  be  rude  than  polite ; 
It's  easy  to  sneer 
When  you're  witty  and  queer, 

And  I'd  rather  be  Clever  than  Right. 

I'm  bored  by  mere  Shakespeare  and  Milton, 
Though  Hubbard  compels  me  to  rave ; 

If  /  should  lay  laurels  to  wilt  on 
That  foggy  Shakespearean  grave, 
How  William  would  squirm  in  his  grave ! 

For  I'd  rather  be  Pshaw  than  be  Shakespeare, 
I'd  rather  be  Candid  than  Wise; 

And  the  way  I  amuse 

Is  to  roundly  abuse 
The  Public  I  feign  to  despise. 

*  From  "At  the  Sign  of  the  Dollar,"  by  Wallace  Irwin.    Copyright, 
1905,  by  Fox,  Duffield  &  Co. 

688 


Vol.  4—8 


WALLACE    IRWIN 

I'm  a  Socialist,  loving  my  brother 

In  quite  an  original  way, 
With  my  maxim,  "Detest  One  Another" — 

Though,  faith,  I  don't  mean  what  I  say. 

(It's  beastly  to  mean  what  you  say !) 

For  I'm  fonder  of  talk  than  of  Husbands, 
And  I'm  fonder  of  fads  than  of  Wives, 

So  I  say  unto  you, 

If  you  don't  as  you  do 
You  will  do  as  you  don't  all  your  lives. 

My  "Candida's"  ruddy  as  coral, 

With  thoughts  quite  too  awfully  plain — 

If  folks  would  just  call  me  Immoral 
I'd  feel  that  I'd  not  lived  in  vain. 
(It's  nasty,  this  living  in  vain!) 

For  I'd  rather  be  Martyred  than  Married, 
I'd  rather  be  tempted  than  tamed, 
And  if  /  had  my  way 
(At  least,  so  I  say) 
'All  Babes  would  be  labeled,  "Unclaimed." 

I'm  an  epigrammatical  Moses, 
Whose  humorous  tablets  of  stone 

Condemn  affectations  and  poses — 
Excepting  a  few  of  my  own. 
(I  dote  on  a  few  of  my  own.) 

For  my  method  of  booming  the  market 
When  Managers  ask  for  a  play 
Is  to  say  on  a  bluff, 
"I'm  so  fond  of  my  stuff 
That  I  don't  want  it  acted— go  'way!" 
689 


CRANKIDOXOLOGY 

I'm  the  club-ladies'  Topic  of  Topics, 
Where  solemn  discussions  are  spent 

In  struggles  as  hot  as  the  tropics, 
Attempting  to  find  what  I  meant. 
(/  never  can  tell  what  I  meant!) 

For  it's  fun  to  make  bosh  of  the  Gospel, 
And  it's  sport  to  make  gospel  of  Bosh, 
While  divorcees  hurrah 
For  the  Sayings  of  Pshaw 

And  his  sub-psychological  Josh. 


690 


MY  HONEY,  MY  LOVE 

BY    JOEL    CHANDLER    HARRIS 

Hit's  a  mighty  fur  ways  up  de  Far'well  Lane, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
You  may  ax  Mister  Crow,  you  may  ax  Mr.  Crane, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Dey'll  make  you  a  bow,  en  dey'll  tell  you  de  same, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Hit's  a  mighty  fur  ways  fer  ter  go  in  de  night, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
My  honey,  my  love,  my  hearfs  delight— 

My  honey,  my  love! 

Mister  Mink,  he  creeps  twel  he  wake  up  de  snipe, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Mister  Bull-Frog  holler,  Come  alight  my  pipe! 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
En  de  Pa'tridge  ax,  Ain't  yo'  peas  ripe? 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Better  not  walk  "erlong  dar  much  atter  night, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
My  honey,  my  love,  my  heart's  delight 

My  honey,  my  love! 

De  Bully-Bat  fly  mighty  close  ter  de  groun', 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Mister  Fox,  he  coax  'er,  Do  come  down ! 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
691 


MY    HONEY,    MY    LOVE 

Mister  Coon,  he  rack  all  'roun'  en  'roun', 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
In  de  darkes'  night,  oh,  de  nigger,  he's  a  sight ! 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
My  honey,  my  love,  my  Mart's  delight — 

My  honey,  my  love! 

Oh,  flee,  Miss  Nancy,  flee  ter  my  knee, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
'Lev'n  big,  fat  coons  liv'  in  one  tree, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Oh,  ladies  all,  won't  you  marry  me  ? 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Tu'n  lef ,  tu'n  right,  we'll  dance  all  night, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
My  honey,  my  love,  my  heart's  delight — 

My  honey,  my  love! 

De  big  Owl  holler  en  cry  fer  his  mate, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Oh,  don't  stay  long !    Oh,  don't  stay  late ! 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Hit  ain't  so  mighty  fur  ter  de  Good-by  Gate, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
Whar  we  all  got  ter  go  w'en  we  sing  out  de  night, 

My  honey,  my  love ! 
My  honey,  my  love,  my  heart's  delight — 

My  honey,  my  love! 


692 


THE  GRAND  OPERA 

BY    BILLY    BAXTER 

Well,  I  decided  to  get  into  my  class,  so  I  started  for 
the  smoking-room.    I  hadn't  gone  three  feet  till  some 
woman  held  me  up  and  began  telling  me  how  she  adored 
Grand  Opera.    I  didn't  even  reply.   I  fled  madly,  and  re- 
mained hidden  in  the  tall  grasses  of  the  smoking-room 
until  it  was  time  to  go  home.   Jim,  should  any  one  ever 
tell  you  that  Grand  Opera  is  all  right,  he  is  either  trying 
to  even  up  or  he  is  not  a  true  friend.   I  was  over  in  New 
York  with  the  family  last  winter,  and  they  made  me  go 
with  them  to  Die  Walkure  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House.   When  I  got  the  tickets  I  asked  the  man's  advice 
as  to  the  best  location.    He  said  that  all  true  lovers  of 
music  occupied  the  dress-circle  and  balconies,  and  that 
he  had  some  good  center  dress-circle  seats  at  three  bones 
per.   Here's  a  tip,  Jim.    If  the  box  man  ever  hands  you 
that  true-lover  game,  just  reach  in  through  the  little  hole 
and  soak  him  in  the  solar  for  me.    It's  coming  to  him. 
I'll  give  you  my  word  of  honor  we  were  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  stage.    We  went  up  in  an  elevator,  were 
shown  to  our  seats,  and  who  was  right  behind  us  but 
my  old  pal,  Bud  Hathaway,  from  Chicago.   Bud  had  his 
two  sisters  with  him,  and  he  gave  me  one  sad  look,  which 
said  plainer  than  words,  "So  you're  up  against  it,  too, 
eh!"    We  introduced  all  hands  around,  and  about  nine 
o'clock  the  curtain  went  up.    After  we  had  waited  fully 
ten  minutes,  out  came  a  big,  fat,  greasy  looking  Dago 

693 


THE    GRAND    OPERA 

with  nothing  on  but  a  bear  robe.  He  went  over  to  the  side 
pf  the  stage  and  sat  down  on  a  bum  rock.  It  was  plainly 
to  be  seen,  even  from  my  true  lovers'  seat,  that  his  bear- 
lets  was  sorer  than  a  dog  about  something.     Presently 
in  came  a  woman,  and  none  of  the  true  lovers  seemed  to 
know  who  she  was.     Some  said  it  was  Melba,  others 
Nordica.    Bud  and  I  decided  that  it  was  May  Irwin.    We 
were  mistaken,  though,  as  Irwin  has  this  woman  lashed 
to  the  mast  at  any  time  or  place.    As  soon  as  Mike  the 
Dago  espied  the  dame  it  was  all  off.    He  rushed  and 
drove  a  straight-arm  jab,  which  had  it  reached  would 
have  given  him  the  purse.  But  shifty  Sadie  wasn't  there. 
She  ducked,  side-stepped,  and  landed  a  clever  half-arm 
hook,  which  seemed  to  stun  the  big  fellow.  They  clinched, 
and  swayed  back  and  forth,  growling  continually,  while 
the  orchestra  played  this  trembly  Eliza-crossing-the-ice 
music.   Jim,  I'm  not  swelling  this  a  bit.   On  the  level,  it 
happened  just  as  I  write  it.    All  of  a  sudden  some  one 
seemed  to  win.   They  broke  away,  and  ran  wildly  to  the 
front  of  the  stage  with  their  arms  outstretched,  yelling 
to  beat  three  of  a  kind.    The  band  cut  loose  something 
fierce.    The  leader  tore  out  about  $9.00  worth  of  hair, 
and  acted  generally  as  though  he  had  bats  in  his  belfry. 
I  thought  sure  the  place  would  be  pinched.   It  reminded 
me  of  Thirsty  Thornton's  dance-hall  out  in  Merrill,  Wis- 
consin, when  the  Silent  Swede  used  to  start  a  general  sur- 
"  vival  of  the  fittest  every  time  Mamie  the  Mink  danced 
twice  in  succession  with  the  young  fellow  from  Albany, 
whose  father  owned  the  big  mill  up  Rough  River.    Of 
course,  this  audience  was  perfectly  orderly,  and  showed 
no  intention  whatever  of  cutting  in,  and  there  were  no 
chairs  or  glasses  in  the  air,  but  I  am  forced  to  admit  that 
the  opera  had  Thornton's  faded  for  noise.    I  asked  Bud 
what  the  trouble  was,  and  he  answered  that  I  could  search 

694 


BILLY    BAXTER 

him.  The  audience  apparently  went  wild.  Everybody 
said  "Simply  sublime!"  "Isn't  it  grand?"  "Perfectly 
superb!"  "Bravo!"  etc.;  not  because  they  really  enjoyed 
it,  but  merely  because  they  thought  it  was  the  proper 
thing  to  do.  After  that  for  three  solid  hours  Rough 
House  Mike  and  Shifty  Sadie  seemed  to  be  apologizing 
to  the  audience  for  their  disgraceful  street  brawl,  which 
was  honestly  the  only  good  thing  in  the  show.  Along 
about  twelve  o'clock  I  thought  I  would  talk  over  old 
times  with  Bud,  but  when  I  turned  his  way  I  found  my 
tired  and  trusty  comrade  "Asleep  at  the  Switch." 

At  the  finish,  the  woman  next  to  me,  who  seemed  to 
be  on,  said  that  the  main  lady  was  dying.  After  it  was 
too  late,  Mike  seemed  kind  of  sorry.  He  must  have  give 
her  the  knife  or  the  drops,  because  there  wasn't  a  minute 
that  he  could  look  in  on  her  according  to  the  rules.  He 
laid  her  out  on  the  bum  rock,  they  set  off  a  lot  of  red  fire 
for  some  unknown  reason,  and  the  curtain  dropped  at 
12:25.  Never  again  for  my  money.  Far  be  it  from  me 
knocking,  but  any  time  I  want  noise  I'll  take  to  a  boiler- 
shop  or  a  Union  Station,  where  I  can  understand  what's 
coming  off.  I'm  for  a  good-mother  show.  Do  you  re- 
member The  White  Slave,  Jim?  Well,  that's  me. 
Wasn't  it  immense  where  the  main  lady  spurned  the  leer- 
ing villain's  gold  and  exclaimed  with  flashing  eye,  "Rags 
are  royal  raiment  when  worn  for  virtue's  sake."  Great ! 
The  White  Slave  had  Die  Walkure  beaten  to  a  pulp, 
and  they  don't  get  to  you  for  three  cases  gate-money, 
either. 


695 


IN    A    STATE    OF    SIN* 

BY  OWEN   WISTER 

Judge  and  Mrs.  Henry,  Molly  Wood,  and  two  stran- 
gers, a  lady  and  a  gentleman,  were  the  party  which  had 
been  driving  in  the  large  three-seated  wagon.  They  had 
seemed  a  merry  party.  But  as  I  came  within  hearing  of 
their  talk,  it  was  a  fragment  of  the  minister's  sonority 
which  reached  me  first : 

".  .  .  .  more  opportunity  for  them  to  have  the 
benefit  of  hearing  frequent  sermons,"  was  the  sentence  I 
heard  him  bring  to  completion. 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  sir."  Judge  Henry  gave  me  (it  al- 
most seemed)  additional  warmth  of  welcome  for  arriving 
to  break  up  the  present  discourse.  "Let  me  introduce  you 
to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Alexander  MacBride.  Doctor,  another 
guest  we  have  been  hoping  for  about  this  time,"  was  my 
host's  cordial  explanation  to  him  of  me.  There  remained 
the  gentleman  with  his  wife  from  New  York,  and  to  these 
I  made  my  final  bows.  But  I  had  not  broken  up  the  dis- 
course. 

"We  may  be  said  to  have  met  already."  Dr.  MacBride 
had  fixed  upon  me  his  full,  mastering  eye ;  and  it  occurred 
to  me  that  if  they  had  policemen  in  heaven,  he  would  be 
at  least  a  centurion  in  the  force.  But  he  did  not  mean  to 
be  unpleasant ;  it  was  only  that  in  a  mind  full  of  matters 
less  worldly,  pleasure  was  left  out.  "I  observed  your 
friend  was  a  skilful  horseman,"  he  continued.  "I  was 
saying  to  Judge  Henry  that  I  could  wish  such  skilful 

*  Reprinted  from  Mr.  Owen  Wister's  "The  Virginian."  Copy- 
right, 1902-1904,  by  The  Macmillan  Company. 

696 


OYYEX    WISTER 

horsemen  might  ride  to  a  church  upon  the  Sabbath.  A 
church,  that  is,  of  right  doctrine,  where  they  would  have 
opportunity  to  hear  frequent  sermons." 

"Yes,"  said  Judge  Henry,  "yes.  It  would  be  a  good 
thing." 

Mrs.  Henry,  with  some  murmur  about  the  kitchen,  here 
went  into  the  house. 

"I  was  informed,"  Dr.  MacBride  held  the  rest  of  us, 
"before  undertaking  my  journey  that  I  should  find  a  deso- 
late and  mainly  godless  country.  But  nobody  gave  me  to 
understand  that  from  Medicine  Bow  I  was  to  drive  three 
hundred  miles  and  pass  no  church  of  any  faith." 

The  Judge  explained  that  there  had  been  a  few  a  long 
way  to  the  right  and  left  of  him.  "Still,"  he  conceded, 
"you  are  quite  right.  But  don't  forget  that  this  is  the 
newest  part  of  a  new  world." 

"Judge,"  said  his  wife,  coming  to  the  door,  "how  can 
/ou  keep  them  standing  in  the  dust  with  your  talking?" 

This  most  efficiently  did  break  up  the  discourse.  As 
our  little  party,  with  the  smiles  and  the  polite  holdings 
back  of  new  acquaintanceship,  moved  into  the  house,  the 
Judge  detained  me  behind  all  of  them  long  enough  to 
whisper  dolorously,  "He's  going  to  stay  a  whole  week." 

I  had  hopes  that  he  would  not  stay  a  whole  week  when 
I  presently  learned  of  the  crowded  arrangements  which 
our  hosts,  with  many  hospitable  apologies,  disclosed  to  us. 
They  were  delighted  to  have  us,  but  they  hadn't  foreseen 
that  we  should  all  be  simultaneous.  The  foreman's  house 
had  been  prq^ared  for  two  of  us,  and  did  we  mind  ?  The 
two  of  us  were  Dr.  MacBride  and  myself;  and  I  expected 
him  to  mind.  But  I  wronged  him  grossly.  It  would  be 
much  better,  he  assured  Mrs.  Henry,  than  straw  in  a 
stable,  which  he  had  tried  several  times,  and  was  quite 
ready  for.    So  I  saw  that  though  he  kept  his  vigorous 

697 


IN    A    STATE    OF    SIN 

body  clean  when  he  could,  he  cared  nothing"  for  it  in  the 
face  of  his  mission.  How  the  foreman  and  his  wife  rel- 
ished being  turned  out  during-  a  week  for  a  missionary 
and  myself  was  not  my  concern,  although  while  he  and  I 
made  ready  for  supper  over  there,  it  struck  me  as  hard 
on  them.  The  room  with  its  two  cots  and  furniture  was  as 
nice  as  possible;  and  we  closed  the  door  upon  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  which,  however,  seemed  also  untenanted. 

Mrs,  Henry  gave  us  a  meal  so  good  that  I  have  remem- 
bered it,  and  her  husband,  the  Judge,  strove  his  best  that 
we  should  eat  it  in  merriment.  He  poured  out  his  anec- 
dotes like  wine,  and  we  should  have  quickly  warmed  to 
them ;  but  Dr.  MacBride  sat  among  us,  giving  occasional 
heavy  ha-ha's,  which  produced,  as  Miss  Molly  Wood 
whispered  to  me,  a  "dreadfully  cavernous  effect."  Was 
it  his  sermon,  we  wondered,  that  he  was  thinking  over? 
I  told  her  of  the  copious  sheaf  of  them  I  had  seen  him 
pull  from  his  wallet  over  at  the  foreman's.  "Goodness !" 
said  she.  "Then  are  we  to  hear  one  every  evening?" 
This  I  doubted;  he  had  probably  been  picking  one  out 
suitable  for  the  occasion.  "Putting  his  best  foot  fore- 
most," was  her  comment ;  "I  suppose  they  have  best  feet, 
like  the  rest  of  us."  Then  she  grew  delightfully  sharp. 
"Do  you  know,  when  I  first  heard  him  I  thought  his  voice 
was  hearty.  But  if  you  listen,  you'll  find  it's  merely 
militant.  He  never  really  meets  you  with  it.  He's  off 
on  his  hill  watching  the  battle-field  the  whole  time." 

"He  will  find  a  hardened  pagan  here." 

"Judge  Henry?" 

"Oh,  no !  The  wild  man  you're  taming.  He's  brought 
you  Kenilworth  safe  back." 

She  was  smooth.  "Oh,  as  for  taming  him !  But  don't 
you  find  him  intelligent  ?" 

Suddenly  I  somehow  knew  that  she  didn't  want  to  tame 

698 


OWEN    WISTER 

him.  But  what  did  she  want  to  do  ?  The  thought  of  her 
had  made  him  blush  this  afternoon.  No  thought  of  him 
made  her  blush  this  evening. 

A  great  laugh  from  the  rest  of  the  company  made  me 
aware  that  the  Judge  had  consummated  his  tale  of  the 
"Sole  Survivor." 

"And  so,"  he  finished,  "they  all  went  off  as  mad  as 
hops  because  it  hadn't  been  a  massacre."  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ogden — they  were  the  New  Yorkers — gave  this  story 
much  applause,  and  Dr.  MacBride  half  a  minute  later 
laid  his  "ha-ha,"  like  a  heavy  stone,  upon  the  gaiety. 

"I'll  never  be  able  to  stand  seven  sermons,"  said  Miss 
Wood  to  me. 
********** 

"Do  you  often  have  these  visitations  ?"  Ogden  inquired 
of  Judge  Henry.  Our  host  was  giving  us  whisky  in  his 
office,  and  Dr.  MacBride,  while  we  smoked  apart  from 
the  ladies,  had  repaired  to  his  quarters  in  the  foreman's 
house  previous  to  the  service  which  he  was  shortly  to 
hold. 

The  Judge  laughed.  "They  come  now  and  then  through 
the  year.  I  like  the  bishop  to  come.  And  the  men  always 
like  it.  But  I  fear  our  friend  will  scarcely  please  them  so 
well." 

"You  don't  mean  they'll — " 

"Oh,  no.  They'll  keep  quiet.  The  fact  is,  they  have  a 
good  deal  better  manners  than  he  has,  if  he  only  knew  it. 
They'll  be  able  to  bear  him.  But  as  for  any  good  he'll 
do—" 

"I  doubt  if  he  knows  a  word  of  science,"  said  I,  musing 
about  the  Doctor. 

"Science!  He  doesn't  know  what  Christianity  is  yet. 
I've  entertained  many  guests,  but  none — The  whole  se- 
cret," broke  off  Judge  Henry,  "lies  in  the  way  you  treat 

699 


IN    A    STATE    OF    SIN 

people.  As  soon  as  you  treat  men  as  your  brothers,  they 
are  ready  to  acknowledge  you — if  you  deserve  it — as 
their  superior.  That's  the  whole  bottom  of  Christianity, 
and  that's  what  our  missionary  will  never  know." 

Thunder  sat  imminent  upon  the  missionary's  brow. 
Many  were  to  be  at  his  mercy  soon.  But  for  us  he  had 
sunshine  still.  "I  am  truly  sorry  to  be  turning  you  up- 
side down,"  he  said  importantly.  "But  it  seems  the  best 
place  for  my  service."  He  spoke  of  the  table  pushed  back 
and  the  chairs  gathered  in  the  hall,  where  the  storm  would 
presently  break  upon  the  congregation.  "Eight-thirty?" 
he  inquired. 

This  was  the  hour  appointed,  and  it  was  only  twenty 
minutes  off.  We  threw  the  unsmoked  fractions  of  our 
cigars  away,  and  returned  to  offer  our  services  to  the 
ladies.  This  amused  the  ladies.  They  had  done  without 
us.  All  was  ready  in  the  hall. 

"We  got  the  cook  to  help  us,"  Mrs.  Ogden  told  me, 
"so  as  not  to  disturb  your  cigars.  In  spite  of  the  cow- 
boys, I  still  recognize  my  own  country." 

"In  the  cook  ?"  I  rather  densely  asked. 

"Oh,  no !  I  don't  have  a  Chinaman.  It's  in  the  length 
of  after-dinner  cigars." 

"Had  you  been  smoking,"  I  returned,  "you  would  have 
found  them  short  this  evening." 

"You  make  it  worse,"  said  the  lady;  "we  have  had 
nothing  but  Dr.  MacBride." 

"We'll  share  him  with  you  now,"  I  exclaimed. 

"Has  he  announced  his  text?  I've  got  one  for  him," 
said  Molly  Wood,  joining  us.  She  stood  on  tiptoe  and 
spoke  it  comically  in  our  ears.  "  'I  said  in  my  haste,  All 
men  are  liars.'  "  This  made  us  merry  as  we  stood  among 
the  chairs  in  the  congested  hall. 

700 


OWEN    WISTER 

I  left  the  ladies,  and  sought  the  bunk  house.  I  had 
heard  the  cheers,  but  I  was  curious  also  to  see  the  men, 
and  how  they  were  taking  it.  There  was  but  little  for  the 
eye.  There  was  much  noise  in  the  room.  They  were  get- 
ting ready  to  come  to  church, — brushing  their  hair,  shav- 
ing, and  making  themselves  clean,  amid  talk  occasionally 
profane  and  continuously  diverting. 

"Well,  I'm  a  Christian,  anyway,"  one  declared. 

"I'm  a  Mormon,  I  guess,"  said  another. 

"I  belong  to  the  Knights  of  Pythias,"  said  a  third. 

"I'm  a  Mohammedist,"  said  a  fourth ;  "I  hope  I  ain't 
goin'  to  hear  nothin'  to  shock  me." 

What  with  my  feelings  at  Scipio's  discretion,  and  my 
human  curiosity,  I  was  not  in  that  mood  which  best 
profits  from  a  sermon.  Yet  even  though  my  expectations 
had  been  cruelly  left  quivering  in  mid  air,  I  was  not  sure 
how  much  I  really  wanted  to  "keep  around."  You  will 
therefore  understand  how  Dr.  MacBride  was  able  to  make 
a  prayer  and  to  read  Scripture  without  my  being  con- 
scious of  a  word  that  he  had  uttered.  It  was  when  I  saw 
him  opening  the  manuscript  of  his  sermon  that  I  sud- 
denly remembered  I  was  sitting,  so  to  speak,  in  church, 
and  began  once  more  to  think  of  the  preacher  and  his 
congregation.  Our  chairs  were  in  the  front  line,  of 
course;  but,  being  next  the  wall,  I  could  easily  see  the 
cow-boys  behind  me.  They  were  perfectly  decorous.  If 
3. Irs.  Ogden  had  looked  for  pistols,  dare-devil  attitudes, 
and  so  forth,  she  must  have  been  greatly  disappointed. 
Except  for  their  weather-beaten  cheeks  and  eyes,  they 
were  simply  American  young  men  with  mustaches  and 
without,  and  might  have  been  sitting,  say,  in  Danbury, 
Connecticut.  Even  Trampas  merged  quietly  with  the 
general  placidity.  The  Virginian  did  not,  to  be  sure,  look 
like  Danbury,  and  his  frame  and  his  features  showed  out 

701 


IN    A    STATE    OF    SIN 

of  the  mass;  but  his  eyes  were  upon  Dr.  MacBride  with 
a  creamlike  propriety. 

Our  missionary  did  not  choose  Miss  Wood's  text.  He 
made  his  selection  from  another  of  the  Psalms ;  and  when 
it  came,  I  did  not  dare  to  look  at  anybody ;  I  was  much 
nearer  unseemly  conduct  than  the  cow-boys.  Dr.  Mac- 
Bride  gave  us  his  text  sonorously,  "  'They  are  altogether 
become  filthy ;  There  is  none  of  them  that  doeth  good,  no, 
not  one.'  "  His  eye  showed  us  plainly  that  present  com- 
pany was  not  excepted  from  this.  He  repeated  the  text 
once  more,  then,  launching  upon  his  discourse,  gave  none 
of  us  a  ray  of  hope. 

I  had  heard  it  all  often  before;  but  preached  to  cow- 
boys it  took  on  a  new  glare  of  untimeliness,  of  grotesque 
obsoleteness — as  if  some  one  should  say,  "Let  me  per- 
suade you  to  admire  woman,"  and  forthwith  hold  out  her 
bleached  bones  to  you.   The  cow-boys  were  told  that  not 
only  they  could  do  no  good,  but  that  if  they  did  contrive 
to,  it  would  not  help  them.    Nay,  more :  not  only  honest 
deeds  availed  them  nothing,  but  even  if  they  accepted  this 
especial  creed  which  was  being  explained  to  them  as 
necessary   for  salvation,   still   it  might  not   save  them. 
Their  sin  was  indeed  the  cause  of  their  damnation,  yet, 
keeping  from  sin,  they  might  nevertheless  be  lost.   It  had 
all  been  settled  for  them  not  only  before  they  were  born, 
but  before  Adam  was  shaped.   Having  told  them  this,  he 
invited  them  to  glorify  the  Creator  of  the  scheme.    Even 
if  damned,  they  must  praise  the  person  who  had  made 
them  expressly  for  damnation.  That  is  what  I  heard  him 
prove  by  logic  to  these  cow-boys.    Stone  upon  stone  he 
built  the  black  cellar  of  his  theology,  leaving  out  its  beau- 
tiful park  and  the  sunshine  of  its  garden.   He  did  not  tell 
them  the  splendor  of  its  past,  the  noble  fortress  for  good 
that  it  had  been,  how  its  tonic  had  strengthened  genera- 

702 


OAVEX    WISTER 

tions  of  their  fathers.  No ;  wrath  he  spoke  of,  and  never 
once  of  love.  It  was  the  bishop's  way,  I  knew  well,  to 
hold  cow-boys  by  homely  talk  of  their  special  hardships 
and  temptations.  And  when  they  fell  he  spoke  to  them  of 
forgiveness  and  brought  them  encouragement.  But  Dr. 
MacBride  never  thought  once  of  the  lives  of  these  waifs. 
Like  himself,  like  all  mankind,  they  were  invisible  dots  in 
creation;  like  him,  they  were  to  feel  as  nothing,  to  be 
swept  up  in  the  potent  heat  of  his  faith.  So  he  thrust  out 
to  them  none  of  the  sweet  but  all  the  bitter  of  his  creed, 
naked  and  stern  as  iron.  Dogma  was  his  all  in  all.  and 
poor  humanity  was  nothing  but  flesh  for  its  canons. 

Thus  to  kill  what  chance  he  had  for  being  of  use  seemed 
to  me  more  deplorable  than  it  did  evidently  to  them.  Their 
attention  merely  wandered.  Three  hundred  years  ago 
they  would  have  been  frightened ;  but  not  in  this  electric 
day.  I  saw  Scipio  stifling  a  smile  when  it  came  to  the 
doctrine  of  original  sin.  "We  know  of  its  truth,"  said 
Dr.  MacBride,  "from  the  severe  troubles  and  distresses  to 
which  infants  are  liable,  and  from  death  passing  upon 
them  before  they  are  capable  of  sinning."  Yet  I  knew  he 
was  a  good  man;  and  I  also  knew  that  if  a  missionary  is 
to  be  tactless,  he  might  almost  as  well  be  bad. 

I  said  their  attention  wandered,  but  I  forgot  the  Vir- 
ginian. At  first  his  attitude  might  have  been  mere  pro- 
priety. One  can  look  respectfully  at  a  preacher  and  be  in- 
ternally breaking  all  the  commandments.  But  even  with 
the  text  I  saw  real  attention  light  in  the  Virginian's  eye. 
And  keeping  track  of  the  concentration  that  grew  on  him 
with  each  minute  made  the  sermon  short  for  me.  He 
missed  nothing.  Before  the  end  his  gaze  at  the  preacher 
had  become  swerveless.  Was  he  convert  or  critic?  Con- 
vert was  incredible.  Thus  was  an  hour  passed  before  I 
had  thought  of  time. 

703 


IN    A    STATE    OF    SIN 

When  it  was  over  we  took  it  variously.  The  preacher 
was  genial  and  spoke  of  having  now  broken  ground  for 
the  lessons  that  he  hoped  to  instil.  He  discoursed  for  a 
while  about  trout-fishing  and  about  the  rumored  uneasi- 
ness of  the  Indians  northward  where  he  was  going.  It 
was  plain  that  his  personal  safety  never  gave  him  a 
thought.  He  soon  bade  us  good  night.  The  Ogdens 
shrugged  their  shoulders  and  were  amused.  That  was 
their  way  of  taking  it.  Dr.  MacBride  sat  too  heavily  on 
the  Judge's  shoulders  for  him  to  shrug  them.  As  a  lead- 
ing citizen  in  the  Territory  he  kept  open  house  for  all 
comers.  Policy  and  good  nature  made  him  bid  welcome 
a  wide  variety  of  travelers.  The  cow-boy  out  of  employ- 
ment found  bed  and  a  meal  for  himself  and  his  horse,  and 
missionaries  had  before  now  been  well  received  at  Sunk 
Creek  Ranch. 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to  take  him  fishing,"  said  the  Judge 
ruefully. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  his  wife,  "you  will.  And  I  shall 
have  to  make  his  tea  for  six  days." 

"Otherwise,"  Ogden  suggested,  "it  might  be  reported 
that  you  were  enemies  of  religion." 

"That's  about  it,"  said  the  Judge.  "I  can  get  on  with 
most  people.   But  elephants  depress  me." 

So  we  named  the  Doctor  "Jumbo,"  and  I  departed  to 
my  quarters. 

At  the  bunk  house,  the  comments  were  similar  but 
more  highly  salted.  The  men  were  going  to  bed.  In  spite 
of  their  outward  decorum  at  the  service,  they  had  not 
liked  to  be  told  that  they  were  "altogether  become  filthy." 
It  was  easy  to  call  names ;  they  could  do  that  themselves. 
And  they  appealed  to  me,  several  speaking  at  once,  like 
a  concerted  piece  at  the  opera :  "Say,  do  you  believe 
babies  go  to  hell  ?"— "Ah,  of  course  he  don't."— "There 

704 


OWEN    WISTER 

ain't  no  hereafter,  anyway." — "Ain't  there?" — "Who  told 
y'u?" — "Same  man  as  told  the  preacher  we  were  all  a 
sifted  set  of  sons-of-guns." — "Well,  I'm  going  to  stay  a 
Mormon." — "Well,  I'm  going  to  quit  fleeing  from  temp- 
tation."— "That's  so!  Better  get  it  in  the  neck  after  a 
good  time  than  a  poor  one."  And  so  forth.  Their  wit  was 
not  extreme,  yet  I  should  like  Dr.  MacBride  to  have 
heard  it.  One  fellow  put  his  natural  soul  pretty  well  into 
words,  "If  I  happened  to  learn  what  they  had  predes- 
tinated me  to  do,  I'd  do  the  other  thing,  just  to  show 
em! 

AndTrampas?  And  the  Virginian?  They  were  out  of 
it.  The  Virginian  had  gone  straight  to  his  new  abode. 
Trampas  lay  in  his  bed,  not  asleep,  and  sullen  as  ever. 

"He  ain't  got  religion  this  trip,"  said  Scipio  to  me. 

"Did  his  new  foreman  get  it?"  I  asked. 

"Huh !  It  would  spoil  him.  You  keep  around,  that's 
all.     Keep  around." 

Scipio  was  not  to  be  probed ;  and  I  went,  still  baffled, 
to  my  repose. 

No  light  burned  in  the  cabin  as  I  approached  its  door. 

The  Virginian's  room  was  quiet  and  dark;  and  that 
Dr.  MacBride  slumbered  was  plainly  audible  to  me,  even 
before  I  entered.  Go  fishing  with  him!  I  thought,  as  I 
undressed.  And  I  selfishly  decided  that  the  Judge  might 
have  this  privilege  entirely  to  himself.  Sleep  came  to  me 
fairly  soon,  in  spite  of  the  Doctor.  I  was  wakened  from 
it  by  my  bed's  being  jolted — not  a  pleasant  thing  that 
night.  I  must  have  started.  And  it  was  the  quiet  voice 
of  the  Virginian  that  told  me  he  was  sorry  to  have  acci- 
dentally  disturbed  me.  This  disturbed  me  a  good  deal 
more.  But  his  steps  did  not  go  to  the  bunk  house,  as  my 
sensational  mind  had  suggested.  He  was  not  wearing 
much,  and  in  the  dimness  he  seemed  taller  than  common. 

Vol.  4->  70S 


IN    A    STATE    OF    SIN 

I  next  made  out  that  he  was  bending  over  Dr.  MacBride. 
The  divine  at  last  sprang  upright. 

"I  am  armed,"  he  said.  "Take  care.  Who  are  you?" 

"You  can  lay  down  your  gun,  seh.  I  feel  like  my  spirit 
was  going  to  bear  witness.  I  feel  like  I  might  get  an  en- 
lightening." 

He  was  using  some  of  the  missionary's  own  language. 
The  baffling  I  had  been  treated  to  by  Scipio  melted  to 
nothing  in  this.  Did  living  men  petrify,  I  should  have 
changed  to  mineral  between  the  sheets.  The  Doctor  got 
out  of  bed,  lighted  his  lamp,  and  found  a  book ;  and  the 
two  retired  into  the  Virginian's  room,  where  I  could  hear 
the  exhortations  as  I  lay  amazed.  In  time  the  Doctor  re- 
turned, blew  out  his  lamp,  and  settled  himself.  I  had  been 
very  much  awake,  but  was  nearly  gone  to  sleep  again, 
when  the  door  creaked  and  the  Virginian  stood  by  the 
Doctor's  side. 

"Are  you  awake,  seh  ?" 

"What  ?     What's  that  ?     What  is  it  ?" 

"Excuse  me,  seh.  The  enemy  is  winning  on  me.  I'm 
feeling  less  inward  opposition  to  sin." 

The  lamp  was  lighted,  and  I  listened  to  some  further 
exhortations.  They  must  have  taken  half  an  hour.  When 
the  Doctor  was  in  bed  again,  I  thought  that  I  heard  him 
sigh.  This  upset  my  composure  in  the  dark;  but  I  lay 
face  downward  in  the  pillow,  and  the  Doctor  was  soon 
again  snoring.  I  envied  him  for  a  while  his  faculty  of 
easy  sleep.  But  I  must  have  dropped  off  myself;  for  it 
was  the  lamp  in  my  eyes  that  now  waked  me  as  he  came 
back  for  the  third  time  from  the  Virginian's  room.  Be- 
fore blowing  the  light  out  he  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
thereupon  I  inquired  the  hour  of  him. 

"Three,"  said  he. 

I  could  not  sleep  any  more  now,  and  I  lay  watching  the 

darkness. 

706 


OWEN    WISTER 

"I'm  afeard  to  be  alone!"  said  the  Virginian's  voice 
presently  in  the  next  room.  "I'm  afeard."  There  was  a 
short  pause,  and  then  he  shouted  very  loud,  "I'm  losin' 
my  desire  afteh  the  sincere  milk  of  the  Word !" 

"What?  What's  that?  What?"  The  Doctor's  cot  gave 
a  great  crack  as  he  started  up  listening,  and  I  put  my  face 
deep  in  the  pillow. 

"I'm  afeard !  I'm  afeard !  Sin  has  quit  being  bitter  in 
my  belly." 

"Courage,  my  good  man."  The  Doctor  was  out  of  bed 
with  his  lamp  again,  and  the  door  shut  behind  him.  Be- 
tween them  they  made  it  long  this  time.  I  saw  the  win- 
dow become  gray;  then  the  corners  of  the  furniture  grow 
visible ;  and  outside,  the  dry  chorus  of  the  blackbirds  be- 
gan to  fill  the  dawn.  To  these  the  sounds  of  chickens  and 
impatient  hoofs  in  the  stable  were  added,  and  some  cow 
wandered  by  loudly  calling  for  her  calf.  Next,  some  one 
whistling  passed  near  and  grew  distant.  But  although 
the  cold  hue  that  I  lay  staring  at  through  the  window 
warmed  and  changed,  the  Doctor  continued  working  hard 
over  his  patient  in  the  next  room.  Only  a  word  here  and 
there  was  distinct ;  but  it  was  plain  from  the  Virginian's 
fewer  remarks  that  the  sin  in  his  belly  was  alarming  him 
less.  Yes,  they  made  this  time  long.  But  it  proved,  in- 
deed, the  last  one.  And  though  some  sort  of  catastrophe 
was  bound  to  fall  upon  us,  it  was  myself  who  precipitated 
the  thing  that  did  happen. 

Day  was  wholly  come.  I  looked  at  my  own  watch,  and 
it  was  six.  I  had  been  about  seven  hours  in  my  bed,  and 
the  Doctor  had  been  about  seven  hours  out  of  his.  The 
door  opened,  and  he  came  in  with  his  book  and  lamp.  He 
seemed  to  be  shivering  a  little,  and  I  saw  him  cast  a  long- 
ing eye  at  his  couch.  But  the  Virginian  followed  him 
even  as  he  blew  out  the  now  quite  superfluous  light.  They 

707 


IN    A    STATE    OF    SIN 

made  a  noticeable  couple  in  their  underclothes ;  the  Vir- 
ginian with  his  lean  racehorse  shanks  running  to  a  point 
at  his  ankle,  and  the  Doctor  with  his  stomach  and  his  fat 
sedentary  calves. 

"You'll  be  going  to  breakfast  and  the  ladies,  seh, 
pretty  soon,"  said  the  Virginian,  with  a  chastened  voice. 
"But  I'll  worry  through  the  day  somehow  without  y'u. 
And  to-night  you  can  turn  your  wolf  loose  on  me  again." 

Once  more  it  was  no  use.  My  face  was  deep  in  the  pil- 
low, but  I  made  sounds  as  of  a  hen  who  has  laid  an  egg. 
It  broke  on  the  Doctor  with  a  total  instantaneous  smash, 
quite  like  an  egg. 

He  tried  to  speak  calmly.  "This  is  a  disgrace.  An  in- 
famous disgrace.  Never  in  my  life  have  I — "  Words  for- 
sook him,  and  his  face  grew  redder.  "Never  in  my  life—" 
He  stopped  again,  because,  at  the  sight  of  him  being  dig- 
nified in  his  red  drawers,  I  was  making  the  noise  of  a 
dozen  hens.  It  was  suddenly  too  much  for  the  Virginian. 
He  hastened  into  his  room,  and  there  sank  on  the  floor 
with  his  head  in  his  hands.  The  Doctor  immediately 
slammed  the  door  upon  him,  and  this  rendered  me  easily 
fit  for  a  lunatic  asylum.  I  cried  into  my  pillow,  and  won- 
dered if  the  Doctor  would  come  and  kill  me.  But  he  took 
no  notice  of  me  whatever.  I  could  hear  the  Virginian's 
convulsions  through  the  door,  and  also  the  Doctor  furi- 
ously making  his  toilet  within  three  feet  of  my  head ;  and 
I  lay  quite  still  with  my  face  the  other  way,  for  I  was 
really  afraid  to  look  at  him.  When  I  heard  him  walk  to 
the  door  in  his  boots,  I  ventured  to  peep ;  and  there  he 
was,  going  out  with  his  bag  in  his  hand.  As  I  still  con- 
tinued to  lie,  weak  and  sore,  and  with  a  mind  that  had 
ceased  all  operation,  the  Virginian's  door  opened.  He 
was  clean  and  dressed  and  decent,  but  the  devil  still 
sported  in  his  eye.  I  have  never  seen  a  creature  more  irre- 
sistibly handsome. 

708 


OWEN    WISTER 

Then  my  mind  worked  again.  "You've  gone  and  done 
it,"  said  I.  "He's  packed  his  valise.  He'll  not  sleep  here." 

The  Virginian  looked  quickly  out  of  the  door.  "Why, 
he's  leavin'  us !'  he  exclaimed.  "Drivin'  away  right  now 
in  his  little  old  buggy !"  He  turned  to  me,  and  our  eyes 
met  solemnly  over  this  large  fact.  I  thought  that  I  per- 
ceived the  faintest  tincture  of  dismay  in  the  features  of 
Judge  Henry's  new,  responsible,  trusty  foreman.  This 
was  the  first  act  of  his  administration.  Once  again  he 
looked  out  at  the  departing  missionary.  "Well,"  he  vin- 
dictively stated,  "I  cert'nly  ain't  goin'  to  run  afteh  him." 
And  he  looked  at  me  again. 

"Do  you  suppose  the  Judge  knows  ?"  I  inquired. 

He  shook  his  head.  "The  windo'  shades  is  all  down 
still  oveh  yondeh."  He  paused.  "I  don't  care,"  he  stated, 
quite  as  if  he  had  been  ten  years  old.  Then  he  grinned 
guiltily.  "I  was  mighty  respectful  to  him  all  night." 

"Oh,  yes,  respectful !  Especially  when  you  invited  him 
to  turn  his  wolf  loose." 

The  Virginian  gave  a  joyous  gulp.  He  now  came  and 
3at  down  on  the  edge  of  my  bed.  "I  spoke  awful  good 
English  to  him  most  of  the  time,"  said  he.  "I  can,  y'u 
know,  when  I  cinch  my  attention  tight  on  to  it.  Yes,  I 
cert'nly  spoke  a  lot  o'  good  English.  I  didn't  understand 
some  of  it  myself!" 

He  was  now  growing  frankly  pleased  with  his  exploit. 
He  had  builded  so  much  better  than  he  knew.  He  got  up 
and  looked  out  across  the  crystal  world  of  light.  "The 
Doctor  is  at  one-mile  crossing,"  he  said.  "He'll  get  break- 
fast at  the  N-lazy-Y."  Then  he  returned  and  sat  again  on 
my  bed,  and  began  to  give  me  his  real  heart.  "I  never  set 
up  for  being  better  than  others.  Not  even  to  myself.  My 
thoughts  ain't  apt  to  travel  around  making  comparisons. 
And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  my  memory  took  as  much  no- 

709 


IN    A    STATE    OF    SIN 

tice  of  the  meannesses  I  have  done  as  of — as  of  the  other 
actions.  But  to  have  to  sit  like  a  dumb  lamb  and  let  a 
stranger  tell  y'u  for  an  hour  that  yu're  a  hawg  and  a 
swine,  just  after  you  have  acted  in  a  way  which  them  that 
know  the  facts  would  call  pretty  near  white — " 


710 


AN  APRIL  ARIA 

BY    R.    K.    MUNKITTRICK 

Now,  in  the  shimmer  and  sheen  that  dance  on  the  leaf  of 
the  lily, 

Causing  the  bud  to  explode,  and  gilding  the  poodle's  chin- 
chilla, 

Gladys  cavorts  with  the  rake,  and  hitches  the  string  to 
the  lattice, 

While  with  the  trowel  she  digs,  and  gladdens  the  heart  of 
the  shanghai. 

Now,  while  the  vine  twists  about  the  ribs  of  the  cast-iron 
Pallas, 

And,  on  the  zephyr  afloat,  the  halcyon  soul  of  the  borax 

Blends  with  the  scent  of  the  soap,  the  brush  of  the  white- 
washer's  flying 

E'en  as  the  chicken-hawk  flies  when  ready  to  light  on  its 
quarry. 

Out  in  the  leaf-dappled  wood  the  dainty  hepatica's  blow- 
ing, 
While  the  fiend  hammers  the  rug  from  Ispahan,  Lynn,  or 

Woonsocket, 
And  the  grim  furnace  is  out,  and  over  the  ash  heap  and 

bottles 
Capers  the  "Billy"  in  glee,  becanning  his  innermost  Billy. 

711 


AN    APRIL   ARIA 

Now  the  blue  pill  is  on  tap,  and  likewise  the  sarsaparilla, 

And  on  the  fence  and  the  barn,  quite  worthy  of  S.  Botti- 
celli, 

Frisk  the  lithe  leopard  and  gnu,  in  malachite,  purple,  and 
crimson, 

That  we  may  know  at  a  glance  the  circus  is  out  on  the 
rampage. 

Put  then  the  flannels  away  and  trot  out  the  old  linen 

duster, 
Pack  the  bob-sled  in  the  barn,  and  bring  forth  the  baseball 

and  racket, 
For  the  spry  Spring  is  on  deck,  performing  her  roseate 

breakdown 
Unto  the  tune  of  the  van  that  rattles  and  bangs  on  the 

cobbles. 


712 


MEDITATIONS  OF  A  MARINER* 

BY    WALLACE   IRWIN 

A-watchin'  how  the  sea  behaves 

For  hours  and  hours  I  sit ; 
And  I  know  the  sea  is  full  o'  waves — 

I've  often  noticed  it. 

For  on  the  deck  each  starry  night 

The  wild  waves  and  the  tame 
I  counts  and  knows  'em  all  by  sight 

And  some  of  'em  by  name. 

And  then  I  thinks  a  cove  like  me 

Ain't  got  no  right  to  roam ; 
For  I'm  homesick  when  I  puts  to  sea 

And  seasick  when  I'm  home. 

*  From  "Nautical  Lays  of  a  Landsman,"  by  Wallace  Irwin.    Copy- 
right, 1904,  by  Dodd,  Mead  &  Co. 


713 


VICTORY* 

BY   TOM    MASSON 

I  turned  to  the  dictionary 

For  a  word  I  couldn't  spell, 
And  closed  the  book  when  I  found  it 

And  dipped  my  pen  in  the  well. 

Then  I  thought  to  myself,  "How  was  it?" 
With  a  sense  of  inward  pain, 

And  still  'twas  a  little  doubtful, 
So  I  turned  to  the  book  again. 

This  time  I  remarked,  "How  easy!" 
As  I  muttered  each  letter  o'er, 

But  when  I  got  to  the  inkwell 
'Twas  gone,  as  it  went  before. 

Then  I  grabbed  that  dictionary 
And  I  sped  its  pages  through, 

And  under  my  nose  I  put  it 

With  that  doubtful  word  in  view. 

I  held  it  down  with  my  body 

While  I  gripped  that  pen  quite  fast, 

And  I  howled,  as  I  traced  each  letter : 
"I've  got  you  now,  at  last!" 


*  Lippincott's  Magazine. 


714 


THE  FAMILY  HORSE 

BY  FREDERICK    S.    COZZENS 

I  have  bought  me  a  horse.  As  I  had  obtained  some 
skill  in  the  manege  during  my  younger  days,  it  was  a 
matter  of  consideration  to  have  a  saddle-horse.  It  sur- 
prised me  to  find  good  saddle-horses  very  abundant  soon 
after  my  consultation  with  the  stage  proprietor  upon  this 
topic.  There  were  strange  saddle-horses  to  sell  almost 
every  day.  One  man  was  very  candid  about  his  horse: 
he  told  me,  if  his  horse  had  a  blemish,  he  wouldn't  wait 
to  be  asked  about  it;  he  would  tell  it  right  out;  and,  if 
a  man  didn't  want  him  then,  he  needn't  take  him.  He 
also  proposed  to  put  him  on  trial  for  sixty  days,  giving 
his  note  for  the  amount  paid  him  for  the  horse,  to  be  taken 
up  in  case  the  animal  were  returned.  I  asked  him  what 
were  the  principal  defects  of  the  horse.  He  said  he'd 
been  fired  once,  because  they  thought  he  was  spavined; 
but  there  was  no  more  spavin  to  him  than  there  was  to  a 
fresh-laid  egg — he  was  as  sound  as  a  dollar.  I  asked 
him  if  he  would  just  state  what  were  the  defects  of  the 
horse.  He  answered,  that  he  once  had  the  pink-eye,  and 
added,  "now  that's  honest."  I  thought  so,  but  proceeded 
to  question  him  closely.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  the  bots. 
He  said,  not  a  bot.  I  asked  him  if  he  would  go.  He  said 
he  would  go  till  he  dropped  down  dead ;  just  touch  him 
with  a  whip,  and  he'll  jump  out  of  his  hide.  I  inquired 
how  old  he  was.     He  answered,  just  eight  years,  exactly 

715 


THE    FAMILY    HORSE 

— some  men,  he  said,  wanted  to  make  their  horses 
younger  than  they  be;  he  was  willing  to  speak  right  out, 
and  own  up  he  was  eight  years.  I  asked  him  if  there 
were  any  other  objections.  He  said  no,  except  that  he 
was  inclined  to  be  a  little  gay;  "but,"  he  added,  "he  is  so 
kind,  a  child  can  drive  him  with  a  thread."  I  asked  him 
if  he  was  a  good  family  horse.  He  replied  that  no  lady 
that  ever  drew  rein  over  him  would  be  willing  to  part 
with  him.  Then  I  asked  him  his  price.  He  answered 
that  no  man  could  have  bought  him  for  one  hundred  dol- 
lars a  month  ago,  but  now  he  was  willing  to  sell  him  for 
seventy-five,  on  account  of  having  a  note  to  pay.  This 
seemed  such  a  very  low  price,  I  was  about  saying  I  would 
take  him,  when  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  whispered  that  I  had 
better  see  the  horse  first.  I  confess  I  was  a  little  afraid 
of  losing  my  bargain  by  it,  but,  out  of  deference  to  Mrs. 
S.,  I  did  ask  to  see  the  horse  before  I  bought  him.  He 
said  he  would  fetch  him  down.  "No  man,"  he  added, 
"ought  to  buy  a  horse  unless  he's  saw  him."  When  the 
horse  came  down,  it  struck  me  that,  whatever  his  quali- 
ties might  be,  his  personal  appearance  was  against  him. 
One  of  his  fore  legs  was  shaped  like  the  handle  of  our 
punch-ladle,  and  the  remaining  three  legs,  about  the  fet- 
lock, were  slightly  bunchy.  Besides,  he  had  no  tail  to 
brag  of ;  and  his  back  had  a  very  hollow  sweep  from  his 
high  haunches  to  his  low  shoulder-blades.  I  was  much 
pleased,  however,  with  the  fondness  and  pride  manifested 
by  his  owner,  as  he  held  up,  by  both  sides  of  the  bridle, 
the  rather  longish  head  of  his  horse,  surmounting  a  neck 
shaped  like  a  pea-pod,  and  said,  in  a  sort  of  trium- 
phant voice,  "three-quarters  blood !"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 
flushed  up  a  little  when  she  asked  me  if  I  intended  to 
purchase  that  horse,  and  added,  that,  if  I  did,  she  would 
never  want  to  ride.    So  I  told  the  man  he  would  not  suit 

716 


FREDERICK    S.    COZZENS 

me.  He  answered  by  suddenly  throwing  himself  upon 
his  stomach  across  the  backbone  of  his  horse,  and  then, 
by  turning  round  as  on  a  pivot,  got  up  a-straddle  of  him ; 
then  he  gave  his  horse  a  kick  in  the  ribs  that  caused  him 
to  jump  out  with  all  his  legs,  like  a  frog,  and  then  off 
went  the  spoon-legged  animal  with  a  gait  that  was  not  a 
trot,  nor  yet  precisely  pacing.  He  rode  around  our  grass 
plot  twice,  and  then  pulled  his  horse's  head  up  like  the 
cock  of  a  musket.  "That,"  said  he,  "is  time."  I  replied 
that  he  did  seem  to  go  pretty  fast.  "Pretty  fast!"  said 
his  owner.  "Well,  do  you  know  Mr.  — ?"  mentioning 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  our  village.  I  replied  that  I  was 
acquainted  with  him.  "Well,"  said  he,  "you  know  his 
horse?"  I  replied  that  I  had  no  personal  acquaintance 
with  him.  "Well,"  said  he,  "he's  the  fastest  horse  in  the 
county — jist  so — I'm  willin'  to  admit  it.  But  do  you 
know  I  offered  to  put  my  horse  agin'  his  to  trot?  I  had 
no  money  to  put  up,  or  rayther,  to  spare;  but  I  offered 
to  trot  him,  horse  agin'  horse,  and  the  winner  to  take 
both  horses,  and  I  tell  you — he  wouldn't  do  it!" 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  got  a  little  nervous,  and  twitched 
me  by  the  skirt  of  the  coat.  "Dear,  "  said  she,  "let  him 
go."  I  assured  her  that  I  would  not  buy  the  horse,  and 
told  the  man  firmly  I  would  not  buy  him.  He  said,  very 
well — if  he  didn't  suit  'twas  no  use  to  keep  a-talkin' :  but 
he  added,  he'd  be  down  agin'  with  another  horse,  next 
morning,  that  belonged  to  his  brother;  and  if  he  didn't 
suit  me,  then  I  didn't  want  a  horse.  With  this  remark  he 
rode  off.     .     .     . 

"It  rains  very  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  looking 
out  of  the  window  next  morning.  Sure  enough,  the  rain 
was  sweeping  broadcast  over  the  country,  and  the  four 
Sparrowgrassii  were  flattening  a  quartet  of  noses  against 
the   window-panes,   believing   most   faithfully   the   man 

717 


THE    FAMILY    HORSE 

would  bring  the  horse  that  belonged  to  his  brother,  in 
spite  of  the  elements.  It  was  hoping  against  hope;  no 
man  having  a  horse  to  sell  will  trot  him  out  in  a  rain- 
storm, unless  he  intend  to  sell  him  at  a  bargain — but 
childhood  is  so  credulous !  The  succeeding  morning  was 
bright,  however,  and  down  came  the  horse.  He  had  been 
very  cleverly  groomed,  and  looked  pleasant  under  the 
saddk.  The  man  led  him  back  and  forth  before  the  door/ 
"There,  'squire,  's  as  good  a  hos  as  ever  stood  on  iron." 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  asked  me  what  he  meant. by  that.  I 
replied,  it  was  a  figurative  way  of  expressing,  in  horse- 
talk,  that  he  was  as  good  a  horse  as  ever  stood  in  shoe- 
leather.  "He's  a  handsome  hos,  'squire,"  said  the  man. 
I  replied  that  he  did  seem  to  be  a  good-looking  animal ; 
but,  said  I,  "he  does  not  quite  come  up  to  the  description 
of  a  horse  I  have  read."  "Whose  hos  was  it?"  said  he. 
I  replied  it  was  the  horse  of  Adonis.  He  said  he  didn't 
know  him ;  but,  he  added,  "there  is  so  many  hosses  stolen, 
that  the  descriptions  are  stuck  up  now  pretty  common." 
To  put  him  at  his  ease  (for  he  seemed  to  think  I  sus- 
pected him  of  having  stolen  the  horse),  I  told  him  the 
description  I  meant  had  been  written  some  hundreds  of 
years  ago  by  Shakespeare,  and  repeated  it : 

"Round-hoof t,  short-joynted,  fetlocks  shag  and  long, 

Broad  breast,  full  eyes,  small  head,  and  nostrils  wide, 
High  crest,  short  ears,  straight  legs,  and  passing  strong, 
Thin  mane,  thick  tail,  broad  buttock,  tender  hide."  j 


«  >i 


'Squire,"  said  he,  "that  will  do  for  a  song,  but  it  ain't 
no  p'ints  of  a  good  hos.  Trotters  nowadays  go  in  all 
shapes,  big  heads  and  little  heads,  big  eyes  and  little  eyes, 
short  ears  or  long  ears,  thick  tail  and  no  tail ;  so  as  they 
have  sound  legs,  good  Tin,  good  barrel,  and  good  stifle, 
and  wind,  'squire,  and  speed  well,  they'll  fetch  a  price. 

718 


FREDERICK    S.    COZZENS 

Now,  this  animal  is  what  I  call  a  hos,  'squire;  he's  got 
the  p'ints,  he's  stylish,  he's  close-ribbed,  a  free  goer,  kind 
in  harness — single  or  double — a  good  feeder."  I  asked 
him  if  being  a  good  feeder  was  a  desirable  quality.  He 
replied  it  was ;  "of  course,"  said  he,  "if  your  hos  is  off 
his  feed,  he  ain't  good  for  nothin'.  But  what's  the  uses" 
he  added,  "of  me  tellin'  you  the  p'ints  of  a  good  hos? 
You're  a  hos  man,  'squire:  you  know — "  "It  seems  to 
me,"  said  I,  "there  is  something  the  matter  with  that  left 
eye."  "No,  sir,"  said  he,  and  with  that  he  pulled  down 
the  horse's  head,  and,  rapidly  crooking  his  forefinger  at 
the  suspected  organ,  said,  "see  thar — don't  wink  a  bit." 
"But  he  should  wink,"  I  replied.  "Not  onless  his  eye 
are  weak,"  he  said.  To  satisfy  myself,  I  asked  the  man 
to  let  me  take  the  bridle.  He  did  so,  and  as  soon  as  I 
took  hold  of  it,  the  horse  started  off  in  a  remarkable  ret- 
rograde movement,  dragging  me  with  him  into  my  best 
bed  of  hybrid  roses.  Finding  we  were  trampling  down 
all  the  best  plants,  that  had  cost  at  auction  from  three- 
and-sixpence  to  seven  shillings  apiece,  and  that  the  more 
I  pulled,  the  more  he  backed,  I  finally  let  him  have  his 
own  way,  and  jammed  him  stern- foremost  into  our  larg- 
est climbing  rose  that  had  been  all  summer  prickling  it- 
self, in  order  to  look  as  much  like  a  vegetable  porcupine 
as  possible.  This  unexpected  bit  of  satire  in  his  rear 
changed  his  retrograde  movement  to  a  sidelong  bound, 
by  which  he  flirted  off  half  the  pots  on  the  balusters,  up- 
setting my  gladioluses  and  tuberoses  in  the  pod,  and 
leaving  great  splashes  of  mould,  geraniums,  and  red  pot- 
tery in  the  gravel  walk.  By  this  time  his  owner  had  man- 
aged to  give  him  two  pretty  severe  cuts  with  the  whip, 
which  made  him  unmanageable,  so  I  let  him  go.  We  had 
a  pleasant  time  catching  him  again,  when  he  got  among; 
the  Lima-bean  poles;  but  his  owner  led  him  back  with 


THE    FAMILY    HORSE 

a  very  self-satisfied  expression.  "Playful,  ain't  he, 
'squire?"  I  replied  that  I  thought  he  was,  and  asked 
him  if  it  was  usual  for  his  horse  to  play  such  pranks.  He 
said  it  was  not.  "You  see,  'squire,  he  feels  his  oats,  and 
hain't  been  out  of  the  stable  for  a  month.  Use  him,  and 
he's  as  kind  as  a  kitten."  With  that  he  put  his  foot  in 
the  stirrup,  and  mounted.  The  animal  really  looked  very 
well  as  he  moved  around  the  grass-plot,  and,  as  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass  seemed  to  fancy  him,  I  took  a  written 
guarantee  that  he  was  sound,  and  bought  him.  What  I 
gave  for  him  is  a  secret ;  I  have  not  even  told  Mrs.  Spar- 
rowgrass.    .     .     . 

We  had  passed  Chicken  Island,  and  the  famous  house 
with  the  stone  gable  and  the  one  stone  chimney,  in  which 
General  Washington  slept,  as  he  made  it  a  point  to  sleep 
in  every  old  stone  house  in  Westchester  County,  and  had 
gone  pretty  far  on  the  road,  past  the  cemetery,  when  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass  said  suddenly,  "Dear,  what  is  the  matter 
with  your  horse  ?"  As  I  had  been  telling  the  children  all 
the  stories  about  the  river  on  the  way,  I  managed  to  get 
my  head  pretty  well  inside  of  the  carriage,  and,  at  the 
time  she  spoke,  was  keeping  a  lookout  in  front  with  my 
back.  The  remark  of  Mrs,  Sparrowgrass  induced  me  to 
turn  about,  and  I  found  the  new  horse  behaving  in  a 
most  unaccountable  manner.  He  was  going  down  hill 
with  his  nose  almost  to  the  ground,  running  the  wagon 
first  on  this  side  and  then  on  the  other.  I  thought  of  the 
remark  made  by  the  man,  and  turning  again  to  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass,  said,  "Playful,  isn't  he?"  The  next  mo^ 
ment  I  heard  something  breaking  away  in  front,  and 
then  the  rockaway  gave  a  lurch  and  stood  still.  Upon 
examination  I  found  the  new  horse  had  tumbled  down, 
broken  one  shaft,  gotten  the  other  through  the  check-rein 
so  as  to  bring  his  head  up  with  a  round  turn,  and  besides 

720 


FREDERICK    S.     COZZEXS 

had  managed  to  put  one  of  the  traces  in  a  single  hitch 
around  his  off  hind  leg.  So  soon  as  I  had  taken  all  the 
young  ones  and  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  out  of  the  rockaway, 
I  set  to  work  to  liberate  the  horse,  who  was  choking  very 
fast  with  the  check-rein.  It  is  unpleasant  to  get  your 
fishing-line  in  a  tangle  when  you  are  in  a  hurry  for  bites, 
but  I  never  saw  fishing-line  in  such  a  tangle  as  that  har- 
ness. However,  I  set  to  work  with  a  pen-knife,  and  cut 
him  out  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  getting  home  by  our 
conveyance  impossible.  When  he  got  up,  he  was  the 
sleepiest-looking  horse  I  ever  saw.  "Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass,"  said  I,  "won't  you  stay  here  with  the  children 
until  I  go  to  the  nearest  farm-house?"  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass  replied  that  she  would.  Then  I  took  the  horse 
with  me  to  get  him  out  of  the  way  of  the  children,  and 
went  in  search  of  assistance.  The  first  thing  the  new 
horse  did  when  he  got  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
scene  of  the  accident  was  to  tumble  down  a  bank.  For- 
tunately the  bank  was  not  over  four  feet  high,  but  as  I 
went  with  him,  my  trousers  were  rent  in  a  grievous  place. 
While  I  was  getting  the  new  horse  on  his  feet  again,  I 
saw  a  colored  person  approaching,  who  came  to  my  as- 
sistance. The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  pull  out  a  large 
jack-knife,  and  the  next  thing  he  did  was  to  open  the  new 
horse's  mouth  and  run  the  blade  two>  or  three  times  in- 
side the  new  horse's  gums.  Then  the  new  horse  com- 
menced bleeding.  "Dah,  sah,"  said  the  man,  shutting  up 
his  jack-knife,  "ef  't  hadn't  been  for  dat  yer,  your  hos 
would  a'  bin  a  goner."  "What  was  the  matter  with 
him?"  said  I.  "Oh,  he's  only  jis  got  de  blind-staggers, 
das  all.  Say,"  said  he,  before  I  was  half  indignant 
enough  at  the  man  who  had  sold  me  such  an  animal, 
"say,  ain't  your  name  Sparrowgrass?"  I  replied  that 
my  name  was  Sparrowgrass.     "Oh,"  said  he,  "I  knows 

Vol.  4— io  '2I 


THE    FAMILY    HORSE 

you,  I  brung  some  fowls  once  down  to  you  place.  I 
heerd  about  you  and  your  hos.  Dats  de  hos  dats  got 
de  heaves  so  bad,  heh !  heh !  You  better  sell  dat  hoss." 
I  determined  to  take  his  advice,  and  employed  him  to 
lead  my  purchase  to  the  nearest  place  where  he  would  be 
cared  for.  Then  I  went  back  to  the  rockaway,  but  met 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  and  the  children  on  the  road  coming 
to  meet  me.  She  had  left  a  man  in  charge  of  the  rock- 
away.  When  we  got  to  the  rockaway  we  found  the  man 
^missing,  also  the  whip  and  one  cushion.  We  got  another 
person  to  take  charge  of  the  rockaway,  and  had  a  pleas- 
ant walk  home  by  moonlight.  I  think  a  moonlight  night 
delicious,  upon  the  Hudson. 

Does  any  person  want  a  horse  at  a  low  price  ?  A  good 
stylish-looking  animal,  close-ribbed,  good  loin,  and  good 
stifle,  sound  legs,  with  only  the  heaves  and  blind-staggers, 
and  a  slight  defect  in  one  of  his  eyes  ?  If  at  any  time  he 
slips  his  bridle  and  gets  away,  you  can  always  approach 
him  by  getting  on  his  left  side.  I  will  also  engage  to 
give  a  written  guarantee  that  he  is  sound  and  kind, 
signed  by  the  brother  of  his  former  owner. 


722 


SONNET  OF  THE  LOVABLE  LASS  AND  THE 
PLETHORIC  DAD* 

BY   J.    W.    FOLEY 

Shee  sez  shee  neavur  neavur  luvd  befoar 

shee  saw  me  passen  bi  hur  paws  frunt  dore 

wenn  shee  wuz  hangen  on  the  gait  ann  i 

Lookt  foolish  att  hur  wenn  ime  goen  bi. 

Uv  korse  sheed  hadd  sum  boze  butt  nun  thatt  sturd 

hur  hart  down  too  itts  deppths  until  shee  hurd 

me  wissel  ann  shee  saw  mi  fais.   Ann  wenn 

shee  furst  saw  mee  sheed  neavur  luv  agen 

shee  sedd  shee  noo.  ann  iff  i  shunnd  hur  eye 

sheed  be  a  nunn  ann  bidd  thee  wurld  good  bi. 

How  swete  itt  is  wenn  munnys  on  thee  throan 

uv  life  to  bee  luvd  fore  ureself  aloan 

Ann  no  thatt  u  have  gott  thee  powr  to  stur 

a  woomans  hart  wenn  u  jusst  look  att  hur. 

ann  o  itts  sweeter  still  iff  u  kan  no 

hur  paw  has  gott  jusst  oshuns  uv  thee  doe 

Ann  u  jusst  hav  to  furnish  luv  ann  hee 

wil  furnish  munny  fore  boath  u  ann  shee. 

i  wood  nott  kair  iff  shee  wuz  poor  butt  o 

itts  dubley  swete  too  no  sheez  gott  thee  doe. 

*By  permission  of  Life  Publishing  Company. 

723 


SONNET 

i  wood  nott  hezzetait  iff  shee  wuz  poor 
Too  marrie  hur.  togeathur  weed  endoor 
wottever  forchun  sennt  with  rite  good  will 
butt  sins  sheeze  rich  itts  awl  thee  bettur  stil. 
ide  luv  hur  in  a  cottidge  jusst  thee  saim 
fore  luv  is  such  a  holey  sakerud  flaim 
thatt  burns  like  tindur  wenn  u  strike  a  lite 
butt  still  itt  burns  moar  gloarious  ann  brite 
wenn  shee  has  lotts  uv  munny  ann  hur  paw 
with  menny  thowsunds  is  ure  fawthernlaw. 


724 


THE  LOVE  SONNETS  OF  A  HUSBAND 

BY    MAURICE   SMILEY 
I   LOVE   YOU    STILL 

You  ask  me  if  I  love  you  still,  tho'  you 

And  I  were  wed  scarce  one  short  happy  year 
Agone.  How  well  do  I  remember,  dear, 

The  day  you  put  your  hand  in  mine,  and  through 

Life's  good  and  ill,  tho'  skies  were  gray  or  blue, 
We  plighted  faith  that  should  not  know  a  fear. 
That  was  the  day  I  kissed  away  the  tear 

That  trembled  on  your  cheek  like  morning  clew. 
Of  course  I  love  you — still.  You're  at  your  best, 
Your  perihelion,  when  you're  silentest. 

I'd  love  you  as  I  did,  dear  heart,  of  yore, 
And  still  a  little  more,  nor  ever  tire: 
Why,  I  would  love  you  like  a  house  afire 

If  you  were  only  still  a  little  more. 

SOUL   TO    SOUL 

I  think  I  loved  you  first  when  in  your  eyes 
I  saw  the  glad,  rapt  answer  to  the  spell 
Of  Paderewski,  when  we  heard  him  tell 

Life's  gentler  meaning,  Love's  sweet  sacrifice. 

The  master  caught  the  rhythm  of  your  sighs 
And  then,  inspired,  the  story  rose  and  fell 
And  sang  of  moonlight  in  a  leafy  dell, 

Of  souls'  Arcadias  and  dreaming  skies, 

725 


THE    LOVE    SONNETS    OF    A    HUSBAND 

Of  hearts  and  hopes  and  purposes  that  blend. 
Your  bosom  heaved  beneath  the  witcheries 
That  seemed  to  set  a  halo  on  his  brow, 
And  then  the  message  sobbed  on  to  its  end. 
"That's  fine,"  you  murmured,  chewing  faster;  "please 
Ask  him  if  he  won't  play  'Bedelia'  now." 

YOU    SAID    THAT    YOU    WOULD   DIE   FOR    ME 

You  said  that  you  would  die  for  me,  if  e'er 

That  price  would  buy  me  happiness.   I  dreamed 
Not  of  devotion  like  to  that,  that  seemed 

To  joy  in  sacrifice ;  that,  tenderer 

Than  selfish  Life's  small  immolations  were, 
Made  Love  an  altar  whereupon  it  deemed 
It  naught  to  offer  all ;  a  shrine  that  gleamed 

With  utter  loyalty's  red  drops.    I  ne'er 

Believed  that  you  were  just  quite  in  your  head 

In  saying  death  would  prove  Fidelity. 

But  when  I  saw  the  packages  of  white  and  red 

Your  druggist  showed  me — he's  my  chum,  you  see — 
I  knew  you  meant,  dear  heart,  just  what  you  said, 

When  you  declared  that  you  would  dye  for  me. 

I    CAN    NOT    BEAR    YOUR    SIGHS 

Your  smiles,  dear  one,  have  all  the  glad  surprise 
The  sunshine  hath  for  roses ;  what  the  day 
Brings  to  the  waiting  lark.    When  you  are  gay 

My  spirit  sings  in  tune,  and  sorrow  flies 

Away.  But,  dear,  I  can  not  bear  your  sighs 
When  on  my  knees  you  nestle  and  you  lay 
Your  tear- wet  face  upon  my  shoulder.  Nay, 

I  can  not  help  the  pain  that  fills  mine  eyes. 

726 


MAURICE    SMILEY 

So,  love,  whatever  cup  of  Life  you  drain 

I'll  stand  for.    Send  the  cashier's  check  to  me. 
"Smile"  all  you  want  to ;  smile  and  smile  again. 
But  as  you  weigh  two  hundred  pounds,  you  see 
Why,  when  you  cuddle  down  upon  my  knee, 

It  is  your  size,  dear  heart,  that  gives  me  pain. 

A    HAND   I    HELD 

The  heartless  years  have  many  hopes  dispelled. 

But  they  have  left  me  one  dear  night  in  June. 

They've  left  the  still  white  splendor  of  the  moon. 
They've  left  the  mem'ry  of  a  hand  I  held, 
While  up  thro'  all  my  soul  the  rapture  welled 

Of  victory.    I  hear  again  the  croon 

Of  twilight  time,  the  lullaby  that  soon 
To  all  the  day's  glad  music  shall  have  swelled. 

I  hold  a  hand  I  never  held  before, 

A  hand  like  which  I'll  never  hold  some  more. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  "called." 

'Twas  at  the  club,  as  we  began  to  leave. 
I  held  five  aces,  but  the  dealer  balled 

The  ones  that  he  had  planted  up  his  sleeve. 

YOUR    CHEEK 

To  feel  your  hands  stray  shyly  to  my  head 

And  flutter  down  like  birds  that  find  their  nest, 
To  see  the  gentle  rise  and  fall  of  your  dear  breast, 

To  hear  again  some  tender  word  you  said, 

To  watch  the  little  feet  whose  dainty  tread 

Fell  light  as  flowers  upon  the  way  they  pressed, 
To  touch  again  the  lips  I  have  caressed — 

All  these  are  precious.    But  your  cheek  of  red 
Outlives  the  mem'ry  of  all  other  things. 

727 


THE  LOVE  SONNETS  OF  A  HUSBAND 

I'd  known  you  scarce  a  month,  or  maybe  two ; 
I  had  not  yet  made  up  my  mind  to  speak, 
You  trots  out  Tifny's  catalogue  of  rings ; 

Says  No.  6  (200  yen)  will  do. 

So  I  remember  best  of  all  your  cheek. 
\ 

WITH    ALL   YOUR    FAULTS 

You  would  not  stop  this  side  the  farthest  line 
Of  Truth,  you  said,  nor  hide  one  little  falsity 
From  my  sweet  faith  that  was  too  kind  to  see. 

You  said  a  keener  vision  would  divine 

All  failings  later,  bare  each  hid  design, 
Each  poor  disguise  of  loving's  treachery 
That  screened  its  weaknesses  from  even  me. 

How  oft  you  said  those  cherry  lips  were  mine 
Alone.    The  cherries  came  in  little  jars, 

i  learned.    Those  auburn  locks,  I  found  with  pain, 
Cost  forty  plunks,  according  to  the  bill 

I  saw.    Those  pearly  teeth  were  porcelain. 
But  I  forgive  you  for  each  fault  that  mars. 
With  all  your  faults,  dear  heart,  I  love  you  still. 


728 


HOW  WE  BOUGHT  A  SEWIN'  MACHINE  AND 

ORGAN 

by  josiah  allen's  wife 

We  done  dretful  well  last  year.  The  crops  come  in 
first-rate,  and  Josiah  had  five  or  six  heads  of  cattle  to 
turn  off  at  a  big-  price.  He  felt  well,  and  he  proposed  to 
me  that  I  should  have  a  sewin'  machine.  That  man, — 
though  he  don't  coo  at  me  so  frequent  as  he  probable 
would  if  he  had  more  encouragement  in  it,  is  attached  to 
me  with  a  devotedness  that  is  firm  and  almost  cast-iron, 
and  says  he,  almost  tenderly :  "Samantha,  I  will  get  you 
a  sewin'  machine." 

Says  I,  "Josiah,  I  have  got  a  couple  of  sewin'  machines 
by  me  that  have  run  pretty  well  for  upwards  of — well  it 
haint  necessary  to  go  into  particulars,  but  they  have  run 
for  considerable  of  a  spell  anyway" — says  I,  "I  can  git 
along  without  another  one,  though  no  doubt  it  would  be 
handy  to  have  round." 

But  Josiah  hung  onto  that  machine.  And  then  he  up 
and  said  he  was  goin'  to  buy  a  organ.  Thomas  Jefferson 
wanted  one  too.  They  both  seemed  sot  onto  that  organ. 
Tirzah  Ann  took  hern  with  her  of  course  when  she  was 
married,  and  Josiah  said  it  seemed  so  awful  lonesome 
without  any  Tirzah  Ann  or  any  music,  that  it  seemed  al- 
most as  if  two  girls  had  married  out  of  the  family  instead 
of  one.  He  said  money  couldn't  buy  us  another  Tirzah 
Ann,  but  it  would  buy  us  a  new  organ,  and  he  was  de- 
termined to  have  one.   He  said  it  would  be  so  handy  for 

729 


HOW  WE  BOUGHT  A  SEWIN'  MACHINE 

her  to  play  on  when  she  came  home,  and  for  other  com- 
pany. And  then  Thomas  J.  can  play  quite  well;  he  can 
play  any  tune,  almost,  with  one  hand,  and  he  sings  first- 
rate,  too.  He  and  Tirzah  Ann  used  to  sing  together  a 
sight ;  he  sings  bearatone,  and  she  sulfireno — that  is  what 
they  call  it.  They  git  up  so  many  new-fangled  names 
nowadays,  that  I  think  it  is  most  a  wonder  that  I  don't 
make  a  slip  once  in  a  while  and  git  things  wrong.  I 
should,  if  I  hadn't  got  a  mind  like  a  ox  for  strength. 

But  as  I  said,  Josiah  was  fairly  sot  on  that  machine  and 
organ,  and  I  thought  I'd  let  him  have  his  way.  So  it  got 
out  that  we  was  goin'  to  buy  a  sewin'  machine,  and  a 
organ.  Well,  we  made  up  our  minds  on  Friday,  pretty 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  on  Monday  forenoon  I  was  a 
washin',  when  I  heard  a  knock  at  the  front  door,  and  I 
wrung  my  hands  out  of  the  water  and  went  and  opened  it. 
A  slick  lookin'  feller  stood  there,  and  I  invited  him  in 
and  sot  him  a  chair. 

"I  hear  you  are  talkin'  about  buyin'  a  musical  instru- 
ment," says  he. 

"No,"  says  I,  "we  are  goin'  to  buy  a  organ." 

"Well,"  says  he,  "I  want  to  advise  you,  not  that  I  have 
any  interest  in  it  at  all,  only  I  don't  want  to  see  you  so 
imposed  upon.  It  fairly  makes  me  mad  to  see  a  Metho- 
dist imposed  upon;  I  lean  towards  that  perswasion  my- 
self. Organs  are  liable  to  fall  to  pieces  any  minute.  There 
haint  no  dependence  on  'em  at  all,  the  insides  of  'em  are 
liable  to  break  out  at  any  time.  If  you  have  any  regard 
for  your  own  welfare  and  safety,  you  will  buy  a  piano. 
Not  that  I  have  any  interest  in  advising  you,  only  my  de- 
votion to  the  cause  of  Right;  pianos  never  wear  out." 

"Where  should  we  git  one?"  says  I,  for  I  didn't  want 
Josiah  to  throw  away  his  property. 

"Well,"  says  he,  "as  it  happens,  I  guess  I  have  got  one 

730 


JOSIAH    ALLEN'S    WIFE 

out  here  in  the  wagon.  I  believe  I  threw  one  into  the  bot- 
tom of  the  wagon  this  mornin',  as  I  was  a  comin'  down 
by  here  on  business.  I  am  glad  now  I  did,  for  it  always 
makes  me  feel  ugly  to  see  a  Methodist  imposed  upon. 

Josiah  came  into  the  house  in  a  few  minutes,  and  I  told 
him  about  it,  and  says  I : 

"How  lucky  it  is  Josiah,  that  we  found  out  about  or- 
gans before  it  was  too  late." 

But  Josiah  asked  the  price,  and  said  he  wasn't  goin'  to 
pay  out  no  three  hundred  dollars,  for  he  wasn't  able. 
But  the  man  asked  if  we  was  willin'  to  have  it  brought 
into  the  house  for  a  spell — we  could  do  as  we  was  a  mind 
to  about  buyin'  it ;  and  of  course  we  couldn't  refuse,  so 
Josiah  most  broke  his  back  a  liftin'  it  in,  and  they  set  it 
up  in  the  parlor,  and  after  dinner  the  man  went  away. 

Josiah  bathed  his  back  with  linement,  for  he  had 
strained  it  bad  a  liftin'  that  piano,  and  I  had  jest  got  back 
to  my  washin'  again  (I  had  had  to  put  it  away  to  git  din- 
ner) when  I  heerd,  a  knockin'  again  to  the  front  door,  and 
I  pulled  down  my  dress  sleeves  and  went  and  opened  it, 
and  there  stood  a  tall,  slim  feller ;  and  the  kitchen  bein' 
all  cluttered  up  I  opened  the  parlor  door  and  asked  him 
in  there,  and  the  minute  he  catched  sight  of  that  piano,  he 
jest  lifted  up  both  hands,  and  says  he: 

"You  haint  got  one  of  them  here !" 

He  looked  so  horrified  that  it  skairt  me,  and  says  I  in 
almost  tremblin'  tones : 

"What  is  the  matter  with  'em?"  And  I  added  in  a 
cheerful  tone,  "we  haint  bought  it." 

He  looked  more  cheerful  too  as  I  said  it,  and  says  he 
"You  may  be  thankful  enough  that  you  haint.  There 
haint  no  music  in  'em  at  all;  hear  that,"  says  he,  goin' 
up  and  strikin'  the  very  top  note.  It  did  sound  flat  enough. 


73i 


HOW    WE    BOUGHT    A    SEWIN'    MACHINE 

Says  I,  "There  must  be  more  music  in  it  than  that, 
though  I  haint  no  judge  at  all." 

"Well,  hear  that,  then,"  and1  he  went  and  struck  the 
very  bottom  note.  "You  see  just  what  it  is,  from  top  to 
bottom.  But  it  haint  its  total  lack  of  music  that  makes 
me  despise  pianos  so,  it  is  because  they  are  so  dangerous." 

"Dangerous?"  says  I. 

"Yes,  in  thunder  storms,  you  see;"  says  he,  liftin'  up 
the  cover,  "here  it  is  all  wire,  enough  for  fifty  lightnin' 
rods — draw  the  lightnin'  right  into  the  room.  Awful  dan- 
gerous !  No  money  would  tempt  me  to  have  one  in  my 
house  with  my  wife  and  daughter.  I  shouldn't  sleep  a 
wink  thinkin'  I  had  exposed  'em  to  such  danger." 

"Good  land!"  says  I,  "I  never  thought  on  it  before." 

"Well,  now  you  have  thought  of  it,  you  see  plainly  that 
a  organ  is  jest  what  you  need.  They  are  full  of  music, 
safe,  healthy  and  don't  cost  half  so  much." 

Says  I,  "A  organ  was  what  we  had  sot  our  minds  on  at 
first." 

"Well,  I  have  got  one  out  here,  and  I  will  bring  it  in." 

"What  is  the  price  ?"  says  I. 

"One  hundred  and  ninety  dollars,"  says  he. 

"There  won't  be  no  need  of  bringin'  it  in  at  that  price," 
says  I,  "for  I  have  heerd  Josiah  say,  that  he  wouldn't 
give  a  cent  over  a  hundred  dollars." 

"Well,"  says  the  feller,  "I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  Your 
countenance  looks  so  kinder  natural  to  me,  and  I  like  the 
looks  of  the  country  round  here  so  well,  that  if  your  mind 
is  made  up  on  the  price  you  want  to  pay,  I  won't  let  a  trifle 
of  ninety  dollars  part  us.  You  can  have  it  for  one  hun- 
dred." 

"Well,  the  end  on't  was,  he  brung  it  in  and  sot  it  up  the 
other  end  of  the  parlor,  and  drove  off.  And  when  Josiah 
come  in  from  his  work,  and  Thomas  J.  come  home  from 
Jonesville,  they  liked  it  first  rate. 

732 


JOSIAH    ALLEN'S    WIFE 

But  the  very  next  day,  a  new  agent  come,  and  he  looked 
awful  skairt  when  he  katched  sight  of  that  organ,  and 
real  mad  and  indignant  too. 

"That  villain  haint  been  a  tryin'  to  get  one  of  them 
organs  off  onto  you,  has  he?"  says  he. 

"What  is  the  trouble  with  'em?"  says  I,  in  a  awe- 
struck tone,  for  he  looked  bad. 

"Why,"  says  he,  "there  is  a  heavy  mortgage  on  every 
one  of  his  organs.  If  you  bought  one  of  him,  and  paid  for 
it,  it  would  be  liable  to  be  took  away  from  you  any  minute 
when  you  was  right  in  the  middle  of  a  tune,  leavin'  you  a 
settin'  on  the  stool;  and  you  would  lose  every  cent  of 
your  money." 

"Good  gracious !"  says  I,  for  it  skairt  me  to  think  what 
a  narrow  chance  we  had  run.  Well,  finally,  he  brung  in 
one  of  hisen,  and  sot  it  up  in  the  kitchen,  the  parlor  beiir 
full  on  'em. 

And  the  fellers  kep'  a  comin'  and  a  goin'  at  all  hours. 
For  a  spell,  at  first,  Josiah  would  come  in  and  talk  with 
'em,  but  after  a  while  he  got  tired  out,  and  when  he  would 
see  one  a  comin'  he  would  start  on  a  run  for  the  barn,  and 
hide,  and  I  would  have  to  stand  the  brunt  of  it  alone.  One 
feller  see  Josiah  a  runnin'  for  the  barn,  and  he  follered 
him  in,  and  Josiah  dove  under  the  barn,  as  I  found  out 
afterwards.  I  happened  to  see  him  a  crawlin'  out  after 
the  feller  drove  off.  Josiah  come  in  a  shakin'  himself — 
for  he  was  all  covered  with  straw  and  feathers — and  says 
he: 

"Samantha  there  has  got  to  be  a  change." 

"How  is  there  goin'  to  be  a  change  ?"  says  I. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  says  he,  in  a  whisper — for  fear  some  on 
'cm  was  prowlin'  round  the  house  yet — "we  will  git  up 
before  light  to-morrow  mornin',  and  go  to  Jonesville  and 
buy  a  organ  right  out." 

731 


HOW    WE    BOUGHT    A    SEWIN'    MACHINE 

I  fell  in  with  the  idee,  and  we  started  for  Jonesville  the 
next  mornin'.  We  got  there  jest  after  the  break  of  day, 
and  bought  it  of  the  man  to  the  breakfast  table.  Says 
Josiah  to  me  afterwards,  as  we  was  goin'  down  into  the 
village : 

"Let's  keep  dark  about  buyin'  one,  and  see  how  many 
of  the  creeters  will  be  a  besettin'  on  us  to-day." 

So  we  kep'  still,  and  there  was  half  a  dozen  fellers  fol- 
lerin'  us  round  all  the  time  a  most,  into  stores  and  gro- 
ceries and  the  manty  makers,  and  they  would  stop  us  on 
the  sidewalk  and  argue  with  us  about  their  organs  and 
pianos.  One  feller,  a  tall  slim  chap,  never  let  Josiah  out 
of  his  sight  a  minute ;  and  he  follered  him  when  he  went 
after  his  horse,  and  walked  by  the  side  of  the  wagon  clear 
down  to  the  store  where  I  was,  a  arguin'  all  the  way  about 
his  piano.  Josiah  had  bought  a  number  of  things  and  left 
'em  to  the  store,  and  when  we  got  there,  there  stood  the 
organ  man  by  the  side  of  the  things,  jest  like  a  watch  dog. 
He  knew  Josiah  would  come  and  git  'em,  and  he  could  git 
the  last  word  with  him. 

Amongst  other  things,  Josiah  had  bought  a  barrel  of 
salt,  and  the  piano  feller  that  had  stuck  to  Josiah  so  tight 
that  day,  offered  to  help  him  on  with  it.  And  the  organ 
man — not  goin'  to  be  outdone  by  the  other — he  offered 
too.  Josiah  kinder  winked  to  me,  and  then  he  held  the  old 
mare,  and  let  'em  lift.  They  wasn't  used  to  such  kind  of 
work,  and  it  fell  back  on  'em  once  or  twice,  and  most 
squashed  'em;  but  they  nipped  to,  and  lifted  again,  and 
finally  got  it  on ;  but  they  was  completely  tuckered  out. 

And  then  Josiah  got  in,  and  thanked  'em  for  the  liftin' ; 
and  the  organ  man,  a  wipin'  the  sweat  offen  his  face — 
that  had  started  out  in  his  hard  labor — said  he  should  be 
down  to-morrow  mornin' ;  and  the  piano  man,  a  pantin' 
for  breath,  told  Josiah  not  to  make  up  his  mind  till  he 

734 


JOSIAH    ALLEN'S    WIFE 

came;  he  should  be  down  that  night  if  he  got  rested 
enough. 

And  then  Josiah  told  'em  that  he  should  be  glad  to  see 
'em  down  a  visitin'  any  time,  but  he  had  jest  bought  a 
organ. 

I  don't  know  but  what  they  would  have  laid  holt  of 
Josiah,  if  they  hadn't  been  so  tuckered  out ;  but  as  it  was, 
they  was  too  beat  out  to  look  anything  but  sneakin' ;  and 
so  we  drove  off. 

The  manty  maker  had  told  me  that  day,  that  there  was 
two  or  three  new  agents  with  new  kinds  of  sewin'  ma- 
chines jest  come  to  Jonesville,  and  I  was  tellin'  Josiah  on 
it,  when  we  met  a  middle-aged  man,  and  he  looked  at  us 
pretty  close,  and  finally  he  asked  us  as  he  passed  by,  if 
we  could  tell  him  where  Josiah  Allen  lived. 

Says  Josiah,  "I'm.  livin'  at  present  in  a  Democrat." 

Says  I,  "In  this  one-horse  wagon,  you  know." 

Says  he,  "You  are  thinkin'  of  buyin'  a  sewin'  machine, 
haint  you  ?" 

Says  Josiah,  "I  am  a  turnin'  my  mind  that  way." 

At  that,  the  man  turned  his  horse  round,  and  follered 
us,  and  I  see  he  had  a  sewin'  machine  in  front  of  his 
wagon.  We  had  the  old  mare  and  the  colt,  and  seein'  a 
strange  horse  come  up  so  close  behind  us,  the  colt  started 
off  full  run  towards  Jonesville,  and  then  run  down  a 
cross-road  and  into  a  lot. 

Says  the  man  behind  us,  "I  am  a  little  younger  than 
/you  be,  Mr.  Allen;  if  you  will  hold  my  horse  I  will  go 
after  the  colt  with  pleasure." 

Josiah  was  glad  enough,  and  so  he  got  into  the  feller's 
wagon ;  but  before  he  started  off,  the  man,  says  he : 

"You  can  look  at  that  machine  in  front  of  you  while  I 
am  gone.  I  tell  you  frankly,  that  there  haint  another  ma- 
chine equal  to  it  in  America;  it  requires  no  strength  at 

735 


HOW    WE    BOUGHT    A    SEWIN'    MACHINE 

all ;  infants  can  run  it  for  days  at  a  time;  or  idiots ;  if  any- 
body knows  enough  to  set  and  whistle,  they  can  run  this 
machine;  and  it's  especially  adapted  to  the  blind — blind 
people  can  run  it  jest  as  well  as  them  that  can  see.  A  blind 
woman  last  year,  in  one  day,  made  43  dollars  a  makin' 
leather  aprons ;  stitched  them  all  round  the  age  two  rows. 
She  made  two  dozen  of  'em,  and  then  she  made  four  dozen 
gauze  veils  the  same  day,  without  changin'  the  needle. 
That  is  one  of  the  beauties  of  the  machine,  its  goin'  from 
leather  to  lace,  and  back  again,  without  changin'  the 
needle.  It  is  so  tryin'  for  wimmen,  every  time  they  want 
to  go  from  leather  to  gauze  and  book  muslin,  to  have  to 
change  the  needle;  but  you  can  see  for  yourself  that  it 
haint  got  its  equal  in  North  America." 

He  heerd  the  colt  whinner,  and  Josiah  stood  up  in  the 
wagon,  and  looked  after  it.  So  he  started  off  down  the 
cross  road. 

And  we  sot  there,  feelin'  considerable  like  a  procession ; 
Josiah  holdin'  the  stranger's  horse,  and  I  the  old  mare; 
and  as  we  sot  there,  up  driv  another  slick  lookin'  chap, 
and  I  bein'  ahead,  he  spoke  to  me,  and  says  he : 

"Can  you  direct  me,  mom,  to  Josiah  Allen's  house  ?" 

"It  is  about  a  mile  from  here,"  and  I  added  in  a  friendly 
tone,  "Josiah  is  my  husband." 

"Is  he?"  says  he,  in  a  genteel  tone. 

"Yes,"  says  I,  "we  have  been  to  Jonesville,  and  our  colt 
run  down  that  cross  road,  and — " 

"I  see,"  says  he  interruptin'  of  me,  "I  see  how  it  is." 
And  then  he  went  on  in  a  lower  tone,  "If  you  think  of 
buyin'  a  sewin'  machine,  don't  git  one  of  that  feller  in  the 
wagon  behind  you — I  know  him  well ;  he  is  one  of  the 
most  worthless  shacks  in  the  country,  as  you  can  plainly 
see  by  the  looks  of  his  countenance.  If  I  ever  see  a  face 
in  which  knave  and  villain  is  wrote  down,  it  is  on  hisen. 

736 


JOSIAH    ALLEN'S    WIFE 

\ny  one  with  half  an  eye  can  see  that  he  would  cheat  his 
grandmother  out  of  her  snuff  handkerchief,  if  he  got  a 
chance." 

He  talked  so  fast  that  I  couldn't  git  a  chance  to  put  in 
a  word  age  ways  for  Josiah. 

"His  sewin'  machines  are  utterly  worthless;  he  haint 
never  sold  one  yet ;  he  cant.  His  character  has  got  out — 
folks  know  him.  There  was  a  lady  tellin'  me  the  other 
day  that  her  machine  she  bought  of  him,  all  fell  to  pieces 
in  less  than  twenty-four  hours  after  she  bought  it ;  fell 
onto  her  infant,  a  sweet  little  babe,  and  crippled  it  for 
life.  I  see  your  husband  is  havin'  a  hard  time  of  it  with 
that  colt.  I  will  jest  hitch  my  horse  here  to  the  fence,  and 
go  down  and  help  him ;  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with 
him  before  he  comes  back  here."  So  he  started  off  on  the 
run. 

I  told  Josiah  what  he  said  about  him,  for  it  madded  me, 
but  Josiah  took  it  cool.  He  seemed  to  love  to  set  there 
and  see  them  two  men  run.  I  never  did  see  a  colt  act  as 
that  one  did ;  they  didn't  have  time  to  pass  a  word  with 
each  other,  to  find  out  their  mistake,  it  kep'  'em  so  on  a 
keen  run.  They  would  git  it  headed  towards  us,  and  then 
it  would  kick  up  its  heels,  and  run  into  some  lot,  and 
canter  round  in  a  circle  with  its  head  up  in  the  air,  and 
then  bring  up  short  ag'inst  the  fence;  and  then  they 
would  leap  over  the  fence.  The  first  one  had  white  panta- 
loons on,  but  he  didn't  mind  'em ;  over  he  would  go,  right 
into  sikuta  or  elderbushes,  and  they  would  wave  their 
hats  at  it,  and  holler,  and  whistle,  and  bark  like  dogs, 
and  the  colt  would  whinner  and  start  off  again  right  the 
wrong  way,  and  them  two  men  would  go  a  pantin'  after 
it.  They  had  been  a  runnin'  nigh  onto  half  an  hour,  when 
a  good  lookin'  young  feller  come  along,  and  seein'  me  a 
settin'  still  and  holdin'  the  old  mare,  he  up  and  says : 

VoL  4— 11  '  0/ 


HOW    WE    BOUGHT    A    SEWIN'    MACHINE 

"Are  you  in  any  trouble  that  I  can  assist  you  ?" 

Says  I,  "We  are  goin'  home  from  Jonesville,  Josiah 
and  me,  and  our  colt  got  away  and — " 

But  Josiah  interrupted  me,  and  says  he,  "And  them 
two  fools  a  caperin'  after  it,  are  sewin'  machine  agents." 

The  good  lookin'  chap  see  all  through  it  in  a  minute, 
and  he  broke  out  into  a  laugh  it  would  have  done  your 
soul  good  to  hear,  it  was  so  clear  and  hearty,  and  honest. 
But  he  didn't  say  a  word ;  he  drove  out  to  go  by  us,  and 
we  see  then  that  he  had  a  sewin'  machine  in  the  buggy. 

"Are  you  a  agent?"  says  Josiah. 

"Yes,"  says  he. 

"What  sort  of  a  machine  is  this  here?"  says  Josiah, 
liftin'  up  the  cloth  from  the  machine  in  front  of  him. 

"A  pretty  good  one,"  says  the  feller,  lookin'  at  the  name 
on  it. 

"Is  yours  as  good  Vs  says  Josiah. 

"I  think  it  is  better,"  says  he.  And  then  he  started  up 
his  horse. 

"Hello!  stop!"  says  Josiah. 

The  feller  stopped. 

"Why  don't  you  run  down  other  fellers'  machines,  and 
beset  us  to  buy  yourn?" 

"Because  I  don't  make  a  practice  of  stoppin'  people  on 
the  street." 

"Do  you  haunt  folks  day  and  night ;  foller  'em  up  lad- 
ders, through  trap-doors,  down  sullers,  and  under  barns?" 

"No,"  says  the  young  chap,  "I  show  people  how  my 
machine  works ;  if  they  want  it,  I  sell  it ;  and  if  they  don't, 
I  leave." 

"How  much  is  your  machine?"  says  Josiah. 

"75  dollars." 

"Can't  you,"  says  Josiah,  "because  I  look  so  much  like 
your  old  father,  or  because  I  am  a  Methodist,  or  because 

738 


JOSIAH    ALLEN'S    WIFE 

my  vr/fe's  mother  used  to  live  neighbor  to  your  grand- 
mother— let  me  have  it  for  25  dollars?" 

The  feller  got  up  on  his  wagon,  and  turned  his  machine 
round  so  we  could  see  it  plain — it  was  a  beauty — and  says 
he: 

"You  see  this  machine,  sir;  I  think  it  is  the  best  one 
made,  although  there  is  no  great  difference  between  this 
and  the  one  over  there ;  but  I  think  what  difference  there 
is,  is  in  this  one's  favor.  You  can  have  it  for  75  dollars 
if  you  want  it ;  if  not,  I  will  drive  on." 

"How  do  you  like  the  looks  on  it,  Samantha?" 

Says  I,  "It  is  the  kind  I  wanted  to  git." 

Josiah  took  out  his  wallet,  and  counted  out  75  dollars, 
and  says  he : 

"Put  that  machine  into  that  wagon  where  Samantha 
is." 

The  good  lookin'  feller  was  jest  liftin'  of  it  in,  and 
countin'  over  his  money,  when  the  two  fellers  come  up 
with  the  colt.  It  seemed  that  they  had  had  a  explanation 
as  they  was  comin'  back;  I  see  they  had  as  quick  as  I 
catched  sight  on  'em,  for  they  was  a  walkin'  one  on  one 
side  of  the  road,  and  the  other  on  the  other,  most  tight 
up  to  the  fence.  They  was  most  dead  the  colt  had  run 
'em  so,  and  it  did  seem  as  if  their  faces  couldn't  look  no 
redder  nor  more  madder  than  they  did  as  we  catched 
sight  on  'em  and  Josiah  thanked  'em  for  drivin'  back  the 
colt ;  but  when  they  see  that  the  other  feller  had  sold  us  a 
machine,  their  faces  did  look  redder  and  madder. 

But  I  didn't  care  a  mite;  we  drove  off  tickled  enough 
that  we  had  got  through  with  our  sufferin's  with  agents. 
And  the  colt  had  got  so  beat  out  a  runnin'  and  racin',  that 
he  drove  home  first-rate,  walkin'  along  by  the  old  mare  as 
stiddy  as  a  deacon. 


739 


CHEER  FOR  THE  CONSUMER 

BY   NIXON    WATERMAN 

I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  it  really  doesn't  matter 

If  you  crowd  me  in  the  street  cars  till  I  couldn't  well  be 

flatter ; 
I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  the  strikers  may  go  striking, 
For  it's  mine  to  end  my  living  if  it  isn't  to  my  liking. 
I  am  a  sort  of  parasite  without  a  special  mission 
Except  to  pay  the  damages — mine  is  a  queer  position : 
The  Fates  unite  to  squeeze  me  till  I  couldn't  well  be  flatter, 
For  I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  it  really  doesn't  matter. 

The  baker  tilts  the  price  of  bread  upon  the  vaguest  rumor 
Of  damage  to  the  wheat  crop,  but  I'm  only  a  consumer, 
So  it  really  doesn't  matter,  for  there's  no  law  that  com- 

pells  me 
To  pay  the  added  charges  on  the  loaf  of  bread  he  sells  me. 
The  iceman  leaves  a  smaller  piece  when  days  are  growing 

hotter, 
But  I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  I  do  not  need  iced  water : 
My  business  is  to  pay  the  bills  and  keep  in  a  good  humor, 
And  it  really  doesn't  matter,  for  I'm  only  a  consumer. 

The  milkman  waters  milk  for  me;  there's  garlic  in  my 

butter, 
But  I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  it  does  no  good  to  mutter ; 
I  know  that  coal  is  going  up  and  beef  is  getting  higher, 
But  I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  I  have  no  need  of  fire ; 

740 


NIXON    WATERMAN 

While  beefsteak  is  a  luxury  that  wealth  alone  is  needing, 
I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  what  need  have  I  for  feeding? 
My  business  is  to  pay  the  bills  and  keep  in  a  good  humor, 
And  it  really  doesn't  matter,  since  I'm  only  a  consumer. 

The  grocer  sells  me  addled  eggs;  the  tailor  sells  me 
shoddy, 

I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  I  am  not  anybody. 

The  cobbler  pegs  me  paper  soles,  the  dairyman  short- 
weights  me, 

I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  most  everybody  hates  me. 

There's  turnip  in  my  pumpkin  pie  and  ashes  in  my  pepper, 

The  world's  my  lazaretto,  and  I'm  nothing  but  a  leper ; 

So  lay  me  in  my  lonely  grave  and  tread  the  turf  down 
flatter, 

I'm  only  a  consumer,  and  it  really  doesn't  matter. 


741 


A  DESPERATE  RACE 

BY  J.  F.   KELLEY 

Some  years  ago,  I  was  one  of  a  convivial  party  that  met 
'in  the  principal  hotel  in  the  town  of  Columbus,  Ohio,  the 
seat  of  government  of  the  Buckeye  state. 

It  was  a  winter's  evening,  when  all  without  was  bleak 
and  stormy  and  all  within  were  blithe  and  gay, — when 
song  and  story  made  the  circuit  of  the  festive  board,  fill- 
ing up  the  chasms  of  life  with  mirth  and  laughter. 

We  had  met  for  the  express  purpose  of  making  a  night 
of  it,  and  the  pious  intention  was  duly  and  most  re- 
ligiously carried  out.  The  Legislature  was  in  session  in 
that  town,  and  not  a  few  of  the  worthy  legislators  were 
present  upon  this  occasion. 

One  of  these  worthies  I  will  name,  as  he  not  only  took 
a  big  swath  in  the  evening's  entertainment,  but  he  was  a 
man  more  generally  known  that  our  worthy  President, 
James  K.  Polk.  That  man  was  the  famous  Captain  Riley, 
whose  "Narrative"  of  suffering  and  adventures  is  pretty 
generally  known  all  over  the  civilized  world.  Captain 
Riley  was  a  fine,  fat,  good-humored  joker,  who  at  the 
period  of  my  story  was  the  representative  of  the  Dayton 
district,  and  lived  near  that  little  city  when  at  home.  Well, 
Captain  Riley  had  amused  the  company  with  many  of  his 
far-famed  and  singular  adventures,  which,  being  mostly 
told  before  and  read  by  millions  of  people  that  have  seen 
his  book,  I  will  not  attempt  to  repeat. 

Many  were  the  stories  and  adventures  told  by  the  com- 

742 


J.    F.    KELLEY 

pany,  when  it  came  to  the  turn  of  a  well-known  gentleman 

who  represented  the  Cincinnati  district.     As  Mr.  

is  yet  among  the  living,  and  perhaps  not  disposed  to  be 
the  subject  of  joke  or  story,  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  give 

his  name.     Mr. was  a  slow  believer  of  other  men's 

adventures,  and,  at  the  same  time,  much  disposed  to 
magnify  himself  into  a  marvellous  hero  whenever  the  op- 
portunity offered.    As  Captain  Riley  wound  up  one  of  his 

truthful  though  really  marvellous  adventures,  Mr.  

coolly  remarked  that  the  captain's  story  was  all  very  well, 
but  it  did  not  begin  to  compare  with  an  adventure  that 
he  had,  "once  upon  a  time,"  on  the  Ohio,  below  the  pres- 
ent city  of  Cincinnati. 

"Let's  have  it!"— "Let's  have  it!"  resounded  from  all 
hands. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Senator,  clearing  his  voice 
for  action  and  knocking  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  against 
the  arm  of  his  chair, — "gentlemen,  I  am  not  in  the  habit 
of  spinning  yarns  of  marvellous  or  fictitious  matters ;  and 
therefore  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  affirm  upon  the  re- 
sponsibility of  my  reputation,  gentlemen,  that  what  I  am 
about  to  tell  you  I  most  solemnly  proclaim  to  be  truth, 
and—" 

"Oh,  never  mind  that:  go  on,  Mr.  ,"  chimed  the 

party. 

"Well  gentlemen,  in  18 —  I  came  down  the  Ohio  River, 
and  settled  at  Losanti,  now  called  Cincinnati.  It  was 
at  that  time  but  a  little  settlement  of  some  twenty  or  thirty 
log  and  frame  cabins,  and  where  now  stand  the  Broadway 
Hotel  and  blocks  of  stores  and  dwelling-houses,  was  the 

cottage  and  corn-patch  of  old  Mr. ,  the  tailor,  who, 

by  the  bye,  bought  that  land  for  the  making  of  a  coat  for 
one  of  the  settlers.  Well,  I  put  up  my  cabin,  with  the  aid 
of  my  neighbors,  and  put  in  a  patch  of  corn  and  potatoes, 

743 


A    DESPERATE    RACE 

about  where  the  Fly  Market  now  stands,  and  set  about 
improving  my  lot,  house,  etc. 

"Occasionally  I  took  up  my  rifle  and  started  off  with 
my  dog  down  the  river,  to  look  up  a  little  deer  or  bar 
meat,  then  very  plenty  along  the  river.  The  blasted  red- 
skins were  lurking  about  and  hovering  around  the  settle- 
ment, and  every  once  in  a  while  picked  off  some  of  our 
neighbors  or  stole  our  cattle  or  horses.  I  hated  the  red 
demons,  and  made  no  bones  of  peppering  the  blasted 
sarpents  whenever  I  got  a  sight  of  them.  In  fact,  the  red 
rascals  had  a  dread  of  me,  and  had  laid  a  good  many 
traps  to  get  my  scalp,  but  I  wasn't  to  be  catched  napping. 
No,  no,  gentlemen,  I  was  too  well  up  to  'em  for  that. 

"Well,  I  started  off  one  morning,  pretty  early,  to  take 
a  hunt,  and  traveled  a  long  way  down  the  river,  over  the 
bottoms  and  hills,  but  couldn't  find  no  bar  nor  deer. 
About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  made  tracks  for  the 
settlement  again.  By  and  by  I  sees  a  buck  just  ahead  of 
me,  walking  leisurely  down  the  river.  I  slipped  up,  with 
my  faithful  old  dog  close  in  my  rear,  to  within  clever 
shooting-distance,  and  just  as  the  buck  stuck  his  nose  in 
the  drink  I  drew  a  bead  upon  his  top-knot,  and  over  he 
tumbled,  and  splurged  and  bounded  a  while,  when  I  came 
up  and  relieved  him  by  cutting  his  wizen — " 

"Well,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  an  adventure?" 
said  Riley. 

"Hold  on  a  bit,  if  you  please,  gentlemen;  by  Jove,  it 
had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it.  For,  while  I  was  busy 
skinning  the  hind-quarters  of  the  buck,  and  stowing  away 
the  kidney-fat  in  my  hunting-shirt,  I  heard  a  noise  like 
the  breaking  of  brush  under  a  moccasin  up  'the  bottom.' 
My  dog  heard  it,  and  started  up  to  reconnoiter,  and  I  lost 
no  time  in  reloading  my  rifle.  I  had  hardly  got  my  prim- 
ing out  before  my  dog  raised  a  howl  and  broke  through 

744 


J.    F.    KELLEY 

the  brush  toward  me  with  his  tail  down,  as  he  was  not 
used  to  doing  unless  there  were  wolves,  painters  (pan- 
thers), or  In j ins  about. 

"I  picked  up  my  knife,  and  took  up  my  line  of  march 
in  a  skulking  trot  up  the  river.  The  frequent  gullies  on 
the  lower  bank  made  it  tedious  traveling  there,  so  I  scrab- 
bled up  to  the  upper  bank,  which  was  pretty  well  covered 
with  buckeye  and  sycamore,  and  very  little  underbrush. 
One  peep  below  discovered  to  me  three  as  big  and  strap- 
ping red  rascals,  gentlemen,  as  you  ever  clapped  your 
eyes  on!  Yes,  there  they  came,  not  above  six  hundred 
yards  in  my  rear,  shouting  and  yelling  like  hounds,  and 
coming  after  me  like  all  possessed." 

"Well,"  said  an  old  woodsman,  sitting  at  the  table, 
"you  took  a  tree,  of  course." 

"Did  I  ?  No,  gentlemen,  I  took  no  tree  just  then,  but 
I  took  to  my  heels  like  sixty,  and  it  was  just  as  much  as 
my  old  dog  could  do  to  keep  up  with  me.  I  run  until  the 
whoops  of  my  red-skins  grew  fainter  and  fainter  behind 
me,  and,  clean  out  of  wind,  I  ventured  to  look  behind  me, 
and  there  came  one  single  red  whelp,  puffing  and  blowing, 
not  three  hundred  yards  in  my  rear.  He  had  got  on  to  a 
piece  of  bottom  where  the  trees  were  small  and  scarce. 
'Now,'  thinks  I,  'old  fellow,  I'll  have  you.'  So  I  trotted 
off  at  a  pace  sufficient  to  let  my  follower  gain  on  me,  and 
when  he  had  got  just  about  near  enough  I  wheeled  and 
fired,  and  down  I  brought  him,  dead  as  a  door-nail,  at  a 
hundred  and  twenty  yards !" 

"Then  you  skelp'd  (scalped)  him  immediately?"  said 
the  backwoodsman. 

"Very  clear  of  it,  gentlemen ;  for  by  the  time  I  got  my 
rifle  loaded,  here  came  the  other  two  red-skins,  shouting 
and  whooping  close  on  me,  and  away  I  broke  again  like 
a  quarter-horse.     I  was  now  about  five  miles  from  the 

745 


A    DESPERATE    RACE 

settlement,  and  it  was  getting  toward  sunset.  I  ran  till 
my  wind  began  to  be  pretty  short,  when  I  took  a  look 
back,  and  there  they  came,  snorting  like  mad  buffaloes, 
one  about  two  or  three  hundred  yards  ahead  of  the  other : 
so  I  acted  possum  again  until  the  foremost  Injin  got 
pretty  well  up,  and  I  wheeled  and  fired  at  the  very  mo- 
ment he  was  'drawing  a  bead'  on  me:  he  fell  head  over 
Stomach  into  the  dirt,  and  up  came  the  last  one !" 

"So  you  laid  for  him,  and — "  gasped  several. 

"No,"  continued  the  "member,"  "I  didn't  lay  for  him, 
I  hadn't  time  to  load,  so  I  laid  my  legs  to  ground  and 
started  again.  I  heard  every  bound  he  made  after  me.  I 
ran  and  ran  until  the  fire  flew  out  of  my  eyes,  and  the  old 
dog's  tongue  hung  out  of  his  mouth  a  quarter  of  a  yard 
long!" 

"Phe-e-e-e-w !"  whistled  somebody. 

"Fact,  gentlemen.  Well,  what  I  was  to  do  I  didn't 
know :  rifle  empty,  no  big  trees  about,  and  a  murdering 
red  Indian  not  three  hundred  yards  in  my  rear ;  and  what 
was  worse,  just  then  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  was  not  a 
great  ways  from  a  big  creek  (now  called  Mill  Creek), 
and  there  I  should  be  pinned  at  last. 

"Just  at  this  juncture,  I  struck  my  toe  against  a  ropt, 
and  down  I  tumbled,  and  my  old  dog  over  me.  Before  I 
could  scrabble  up — " 

"The  Indian  fired !"  gasped  the  old  woodsman. 

"He  did,  gentlemen,  and  I  felt  the  ball  strike  me  under , 
the  shoulder;  but  that  didn't  seem  to  put  any  embargo 
upon  my  locomotion,  for  as  soon  as  I  got  up  I  took  off 
again,  quite  freshened  by  my  fall!  I  heard  the  red-skin 
close  behind  me  coming  booming  on,  and  every  minute  I 
expected  to  have  his  tomahawk  dashed  into  my  head  or 
shoulders. 

"Something  kind  of  cool  began  to  trickle  down  my  legs 
into  my  boots — " 

746 


J.  F.  KELLEY 

"Blood,  eh  ?  for  the  shot  the  varmint  gin  you,"  said  the 
old  woodsman,  in  a  great  state  of  excitement. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  Senator;  "but  what  do  you 
think  it  was?" 

Not  being  blood,  we  were  all  puzzled  to  know  what  the 
blazes  it  could  be ;  when  Riley  observed, — 

"I  suppose  you  had — " 

"Melted  the  deer- fat  which  I  had  stuck  in  the  breast  of 
my  hunting-shirt,  and  the  grease  was  running  down  my 
leg  until  my  feet  got  so  greasy  that  my  heavy  boots  flew 
off,  and  one,  hitting  the  dog,  nearly  knocked  his  brains 
out." 

We  all  grinned,  which  the  "member"  noticing,  ob- 
served,— 

"I  hope,  gentlemen,  no  man  here  will  presume  to  think 
I'm  exaggerating  ?" 

"Oh,  certainly  not !  Go  on,  Mr. ,"  we  all  chimed  in. 

"Well,  the  ground  under  my  feet  was  soft,  and,  being 
relieved  of  my  heavy  boots,  I  put  off  with  double-quick 
time,  and,  seeing  the  creek  about  half  a  mile  off,  I  ven- 
tured to  look  over  my  shoulder  to  see  what  kind  of  chance 
there  was  to  hold  up  and  load.  The  red-skin  was  coming 
jogging  along,  pretty  well  blowed  out,  about  five  hundred 
yards  in  the  rear.  Thinks  I,  'Here  goes  to  load,  anyhow/ 
So  at  it  I  went :  in  went  the  powder,  and,  putting  on  my 
patch,  down  went  the  ball  about  half-way,  and  off  snapped 
my  ramrod !" 

"Thunder  and  lightning!"  shouted  the  old  woodsman, 
who  was  worked  up  to  the  top-notch  in  the  "member's" 
story. 

"Good  gracious!  wasn't  I  in  a  pickle!  There  was  the 
red  whelp  within  two  hundred  yards  of  me,  pacing  along 
and  loading  up  his  rifle  as  he  came!  I  jerked  out  the 
broken  ramrod,  dashed  it  away,  and  started  on,  priming 

747 


A    DESPERATE    RACE 

up  as  I  cantered  off,  determined  to  turn  and  give  the  red- 
skin a  blast,  anyhow,  as  soon  as  I  reached  the  creek. 

"I  was  now  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  creek,  could 
see  the  smoke  from  the  settlement  chimneys.  A  few  more 
jumps,  and  I  was  by  the  creek.  The  Indian  was  close 
upon  me :  he  gave  a  whoop,  and  I  raised  my  rifle :  on  he 
came,  knowing  that  I  had  broken  my  ramrod  and  my  load 
not  down:  another  whoop!  whoop!  and  he  was  within 
fifty  yards  of  me.   I  pulled  trigger,  and — " 

"And  killed  Mm?"  chuckled  Riley. 

"No,  sir!  I  missed  fire!" 

"And  the  red-skin — "  shouted  the  old  woodsman,  in  a 
frenzy  of  excitement. 

"Fired  and  killed  me!" 

The  screams  and  shouts  that  followed  this  finale 
brought  landlord  Noble,  servants  and  hostlers  running 
up  stairs  to  see  if  the  house  was  on  fire! 


748 


"AS  GOOD  AS  A  PLAY' 

BY    HORACE   E>    SCUDDER 


There  was  quite  a  row  of  them  on  the  mantel-piece. 
They  were  all  facing-  front,  and  it  looked  as  if  they  had 
come  out  of  the  wall  behind,  and  were  on  their  little  stage 
facing  the  audience.  There  was  the  bronze  monk  reading 
a  book  by  the  light  of  a  candle,  who  had  a  private  opening 
under  his  girdle,  so  that  sometimes  his  head  was  thrown 
violently  back,  and  one  looked  down  into  him  and  found 
him  full  of  brimstone  matches.  Then  the  little  boy  lean- 
ing against  a  greyhound;  he  was  made  of  Parian,  very 
fine  Parian,  too,  so  that  one  would  expect  to  find  a  glass 
cover  over  him :  but  no,  the  glass  cover  stood  over  a  cat 
and  a  cat  made  of  worsted,  too :  still  it  was  a  very  old  cat, 
fifty  years  old  in  fact.  There  was  another  young  person 
there,  young  like  the  bo)'  leaning  on  a  greyhound,  and  she, 
too,  was  of  Parian  :  she  was  very  fair  in  front,  but  behind 
— ah,  that  is  a  secret  which  is  not  quite  time  yet  to  tell. 
One  other  stood  there,  at  least  she  seemed  to  stand,  but 
nobody  could  see  her  feet,  for  her  dress  was  so  very  wide 
and  so  finely  flounced.  She  was  the  china  girl  that  rose 
out  of  a  pen-wiper. 

The  fire  in  the  grate  below  was  of  soft  coal,  and 
flashed  up  and  down,  throwing  little  jets  of  flame  up  that 
made  very  pretty  foot-lights.  So  here  was  a  stage,  and 
here  were  the  actors,  but  where  was  the  audience?  Oh, 
the  Audience  was  in  the  arm-chair  in  front.     He  had  £ 

749 


"AS    GOOD    AS    A    PLAY" 

special  seat;  he  was  a  critic,  and  could  get  up  when  he 
wanted  to,  when  the  play  became  tiresome,  and  go  out. 

"It  is  painful  to  say  such  things  out  loud,"  said  the 
Boy-leaning-against-a-greyhound,  with  a  trembling  voice, 
"but  we  have  been  together  so  long,  and  these  people 
round  us  never  will  go  away.  Dear  girl,  will  you  ? — you 
know."  It  was  the  Parian  girl  that  he  spoke  to,  but  he  did 
not  look  at  her ;  he  could  not,  he  was  leaning  against  the 
greyhound ;  he  only  looked  at  the  Audience. 

"I  am  not  quite  sure,"  she  coughed.  "If,  now,  you  were 
under  a  glass  case." 

"I  am  under  a  glass  case,"  spoke  up  the  Cat-made-of- 
worsted.  "Marry  me.  I  am  fifty  years  old.  Marry  me, 
and  live  under  a  glass  case." 

"Shocking!"  said  she.  "How  can  you ?  Fifty  years  old, 
too !  That  would  indeed  be  a  match !" 

Marry!"  muttered  the  bronze  Monk-reading-a-book. 
A  match!     I  am  full  of  matches,  but  I  don't  marry. 
Folly!" 

"You  stand  up  very  straight,  neighbor,"  said  the  Cat- 
made-of-  worsted. 

"I  never  bend,"  said  the  bronze  Monk-reading-a-book. 
"Life  is  earnest  I  read  a  book  by  candle.  I  am  never 
idle." 

The  Cat-made-of- worsted  grinned  to  himself. 

"You've  got  a  hinge  in  your  back,"  said  he,  "they  open 
you  in  the  middle ;  your  head  flies  back.  How  the  bloody 
must  run  down.  And  then  you're  full  of  brimstone 
matches.  He !  he !"  and  the  Cat-made-of- worsted  grinned 
out  loud.  The  Boy-leaning-against-a-greyhound  spoke 
again,  and  sighed : 

"I  am  of  Parian,  you  know,  and  there  is  no  one  else 
here  of  Parian  except  yourself." 

"And  the  greyhound,"  said  the  Parian  girl. 

750 


u 
It 


HORACE    E.    SCUDDER 

"Yes,  and  the  greyhound,"  said  he  eagerly.  "lie  be- 
longs to  me.  Come,  a  glass  case  is  nothing  to  it.  We 
could  roam ;  oh,  we  could  roam !" 

"I  don't  like  roaming." 

"Then  we  could  stay  at  home,  and  lean  against  the 
greyhound." 

"No,"  said  the  Parian  girl,  "I  don't  like  that." 

"Why?" 

"I  have  private  reasons." 

"What?" 

"No  matter." 

"I  know,"  said  the  Cat-made-of-worsted.  "I  saw  her 
behind.  She's  hollow.  She's  stuffed  with  lamp-lighters. 
He !  he !"  and  the  Cat-made-of-worsted  grinned  again. 

"I  love  you  just  as  much,"  said  the  steadfast  Boy-lean- 
ing-against-a-greyhound,  "and  I  don't  believe  the  Cat." 

"Go  away,"  said  the  Parian  girl,  angrily.  "You're  all 
hateful.  I  won't  have  you." 

"Ah!"  sighed  the  Boy-leaning-against-a-greyhound. 

"Ah !"  came  another  sigh — it  was  from  the  China-girl- 
rising-out-of-a-pen-wiper — "how  I  pity  you!" 

"Do  you?"  said  he  eagerly.  "Do  you?  Then  I  love 
you.  Will  you  marry  me?" 

"Ah!"  said  she;  "but—" 

"She  can't !"  said  the  Cat-made-of-worsted.  "She 
can't  come  to  you.  She  hasn't  got  any  legs.  I  know  it. 
.I'm  fifty  years  old.  I  never  saw  them." 

"Never  mind  the  Cat,"  said  the  Boy-leaning-against- 
a-greyhound. 

"But  I  do  mind  the  Cat,"  said  she,  weeping.  "I  haven't. 
It's  all  pen-wiper." 

"Do  I  care?"  said  he. 

"She  has  thoughts,"  said  the  bronze  Monk-reading-a- 
book.  "That  lasts  longer  than  beauty.  And  she  is  solid 
behind." 

751 


"AS    GOOD    AS    A    PLAY" 

"And  she  has  no  hinge  in  her  back,"  grinned  the  Cat- 
made-of-worsted.  "Come,  neighbors,  let  us  congratulate 
them.    You  begin." 

"Keep  out  of  disagreeable  company,"  said  the  bronze 
Monk-reading-a-book. 

"That  is  not  congratulation;  that  is  advice,"  said  the 
Cat-made-of-worsted.  "Never  mind,  go  on,  my  dear," — 
to  the  Parian  girl.  "What !  nothing  to  say  ?  Then  I'll  say 
it  for  you.  'Friends,  may  your  love  last  as  long  as  your 
courtship.'   Now  I'll  congratulate  you." 

But  before  he  could  speak,  the  Audience  got  up. 

"You  shall  not  say  a  word.   It  must  end  happily." 

He  went  to  the  mantel-piece  and  took  up  the  China- 
girl-rising-out-of-a-pen-wiper. 

"Why,  she  has  legs  after  all,"  said  he. 

"They're  false,"  said  the  Cat-made-of-worsted. 
"They're  false.  I  know  it.  I'm  fifty  years  old.  I  never 
saw  true  ones  on  her." 

The  Audience  paid  no  attention,  but  took  up  the  Boy- 
leaning-against-a-greyhound. 

"Ha !"  said  the  Cat-made-of-worsted.  "Come.  I  like 
this.  He's  hollow.  They're  all  hollow.  He!  he!  Neigh- 
bor Monk,  you're  hollow.  He!  he!"  and  the  Cat-made-of- 
worsted  never  stopped  grinning.  The  Audience  lifted  the 
glass  case  from  him  and  set  it  over  the  Boy-leaning- 
against-a-greyhound  and  the  China-girl-rising-out-of-a- 
pen-wiper. 

"Be  happy !"  said  he. 

"Happy !"  said  the  Cat-made-of-worsted.   "Happy !' 

Still  they  were  happy. 


i" 


752 


THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST  TABLE 

BY   OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES 

It  is  not  easy,  at  the  best,  for  two  persons  talking  to- 
gether to  make  the  most  of  each  other's  thoughts,  there 
are  so  many  of  them. 

[The  company  looked  as  if  they  wanted  an  explana- 
tion.] 

When  John  and  Thomas,  for  instance,  are  talking  to- 
gether, it  is  natural  enough  that  among  the  six  there 
should  be  more  or  less  confusion  and  misapprehension. 

[Our  landlady  turned  pale; — no  doubt  she  thought 
there  was  a  screw  loose  in  my  intellects, — and  that  in- 
volved the  probable  loss  of  a  boarder.  A  severe-looking 
person,  who  wears  a  Spanish  cloak  and  a  sad  cheek,  fluted 
by  the  passions  of  the  melodrama,  whom  I  understand  to 
be  the  professional  ruffian  of  the  neighboring  theater,  al- 
luded, with  a  certain  lifting  of  the  brow,  drawing  down 
of  the  corners  of  the  mouth  and  somewhat  rasping  voce 
di  petti,  to  Falstaff's  nine  men  in  buckram.  Everybody 
looked  up.  I  believe  the  old  gentleman  opposite  was 
afraid  I  should  seize  the  carving-knife;  at  any  rate,  he 
slid  it  to  one  side,  as  it  were  carelessly.] 

I  think,  I  said,  I  can  make  it  plain  to  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin here,  that  there  are  at  least  six  personalities  distinctly 
to  be  recognized  as  taking  part  in  that  dialogue  between 
John  and  Thomas. 

'  I.  The  real  John;  known  only  to  his  Maker. 

2.  John's  ideal  John;  never  the  real  one,  and  often 
Three  Johns  <  very  unlike  him. 

3.  Thomas's  ideal  John;    never  the   real  John,  nor 
y  John's  John,  but  otten  very  unlike  either. 

VoL  4—12  ^53 


THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST  TABLE 


Three  Thomases 


1.  The  real  Thomas. 

2.  Thomas's  ideal  Thomas. 

3.  John's  ideal  Thomas. 


Only  one  of  the  three  Johns  is  taxed ;  only  one  can  be 
weighed  on  a  platform-balance;  but  the  other  two  are 
just  as  important  in  the  conversation.  Let  us  suppose 
the  real  John  to  be  old,  dull  and  ill-looking.  But  as  the 
Higher  Powers  have  not  conferred  on  men  the  gift  of 
seeing  themselves  in  the  true  light,  John  very  possibly 
conceives  himself  to  be  youthful,  witty,  and  fascinating, 
and  talks  from  the  point  of  view  of  this  ideal.  Thomas, 
again  believes  him  to  be  an  artful  rogue,  we  will  say; 
therefore  he  is  so  far  as  Thomas's  attitude  in  the  con- 
versation is  concerned,  an  artful  rogue,  though  really 
simple  and  stupid.  The  same  conditions  apply  to  the 
three  Thomases.  It  follows,  that,  until  a  man  can  be 
found  who  knows  himself  as  his  Maker  knows  him,  or 
who  sees  himself  as  others  see  him,  there  must  be  at  least 
six  persons  engaged  in  every  dialogue  between  two.  Of 
these,  the  least  important,  philosophically  speaking,  is  the 
one  that  we  have  called  the  real  person.  No  wonder  two 
disputants  often  get  angry,  when  there  are  six  of  them 
talking  and  listening  all  at  the  same  time. 

[A  very  unphilosophical  application  of  the  above  re- 
marks was  made  by  a  young  fellow,  answering  to  the 
name  of  John,  who  sits  near  me  at  table.  A  certain  bas- 
ket of  peaches,  a  rare  vegetable,  little  known  to  board- 
ing houses,  was  on  its  way  to  me  via  this  unlettered 
Johannes.  He  appropriated  the  three  that  remained  in 
the  basket,  remarking  that  there  was  just  one  apiece  for 
him.  I  convinced  him  that  his  practical  inference  was 
hasty  and  illogical,  but  in  the  mean  time  he  had  eaten  the 
peaches.] 

754 


OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES 

"Our  Sumatra  Correspondence 

"This  island  is  now  the  property  of  the  Stamford  fam- 
ily,— having-  been  won,  it  is  said,  in  a  raffle,  by  Sir 

Stamford,  during-  the  stock-gambling  mania  of  the  South- 
Sea  Scheme.  The  history  of  this  gentleman  may  be  found 
in  an  interesting  series  of  questions  (unfortunately  not 
yet  answered)  contained  in  the  "Notes  and  Queries." 
This  island  is  entirely  surrounded  by  the  ocean,  which 
here  contains  a  large  amount  of  saline  substance,  crystal- 
lizing- in  cubes  remarkable  for  their  symmetry,  and  fre- 
quently displays  on  its  surface,  during  calm  weather,  the 
rainbow  tints  of  the  celebrated  South-Sea  bubbles.  The 
summers  are  oppressively  hot,  and  the  winters  very  prob- 
ably cold;  but  this  fact  can  not  be  ascertained  precisely, 
as,  for  some  peculiar  reason,  the  mercury  in  these  latitudes 
never  shrinks,  as  in  more  northern  regions,  and  thus  the 
thermometer  is  rendered  useless  in  winter. 

"The  principal  vegetable  productions  of  the  island  are 
the  pepper-tree  and  the  bread-fruit  tree.  Pepper  being 
very  abundantly  produced,  a  benevolent  society  was  or- 
ganized in  London  during  the  last  century  for  supplying 
the  natives  with  vinegar  and  oysters,  as  an  addition  to 
that  delightful  condiment.  [Note  received  from  Dr. 
D.  P.]  It  is  said,  however,  that,  as  the  oysters  were  of 
the  kind  called  natives  in  England,  the  natives  of  Suma- 
tra, in  obedience  to  a  natural  instinct,  refused  to  touch 
them,  and  confined  themselves  entirely  to  the  crew  of  the 
vessel  in  which  they  were  brought  over.  This  informa- 
tion was  received  from  one  of  the  oldest  inhabitants,  a 
native  himself,  and  exceedingly  fond  of  missionaries.  He 
is  said  also  to  be  very  skilful  in  the  cuisine  peculiar  to 
the  island. 

"During  the  season  of  gathering  the  pepper,  the  per- 

755 


THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST  TABLE 

sons  employed  are  subject  to  various  incommodities,  the 
chief  of  which  is  violent  and  long-continued  sternutation, 
or  sneezing.  Such  is  the  vehemence  of  these  attacks,  that 
the  unfortunate  subjects  of  them  are  often  driven  back- 
ward for  great  distances  at  immense  speed,  on  the  well- 
known  principle  of  the  seolipile.  Not  being  able  to  see 
where  they  are  going,  these  poor  creatures  dash  them- 
selves to  pieces  against  the  rocks  or  are  precipitated  over 
the  cliffs,  and  thus  many  valuable  lives  are  lost  annually. 
As,  during  the  whole  pepper-harvest,  they  feed  exclu- 
sively on  this  stimulant,  they  become  exceedingly  irri- 
table. The  smallest  injury  is  resented  with  ungovernable 
rage.  A  young  man  suffering  from  the  pepper-fever,  as 
it  is  called,  cudgeled  another  most  severely  for  appro- 
priating a  superannuated  relative  of  trifling  value,  and 
was  only  pacified  by  having  a  present  made  him  of  a  pig 
of  that  peculiar  species  of  swine  called  the  Peccavi  by  the 
Catholic  Jews,  who,  it  is  well  known,  abstain  from  swine's 
flesh  in  imitation  of  the  Mahometan  Buddhists. 

"The  bread-tree  grows  abundantly.  Its  branches  are 
well  known  to  Europe  and  America  under  the  familiar 
name  of  macaroni.  The  smaller  twigs  are  called  vermi- 
celli. They  have  a  decided  animal  flavor,  as  may  be  ob- 
served in  the  soups  containing  them.  Macaroni,  being 
tubular,  is  the  favorite  habitat  of  a  very  dangerous  insect, 
which  is  rendered  peculiarly  ferocious  by  being  boiled. 
The  government  of  the  island,  therefore,  never  allows  a 
stick  of  it  to  be  exported  without  being  accompanied  by 
a  piston  with  which  its  cavity  may  at  any  time  be  thor- 
oughly swept  out.  These  are  commonly  lost  or  stolen  be- 
fore the  macaroni  arrives  among  us.  It  therefore  always 
contains  many  of  these  insects,  which,  however,  generally 
die  of  old  age  in  the  shops,  so  that  accidents  from  this 
source  are  comparatively  rare. 

756 


OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES 

"The  fruit  of  the  bread-tree  consists  principally  of  hot 
rolls.  The  buttered-muffin  variety  is  supposed  to  be  a 
hybrid  with  a  cocoanut  palm,  the  cream  found  on  the 
milk  of  the  cocoanut  exuding  from  the  hybrid  in  the 
shape  of  butter,  just  as  the  ripe  fruit  is  splitting,  so  as  to 
fit  it  for  the  tea-table,  where  it  is  commonly  served  up 
with  cold — " 

— There, — I  don't  want  to  read  any  more  of  it.  You  see 
that  many  of  these  statements  are  highly  improbable. — 
No,  I  shall  not  mention  the  paper. — No,  neither  of  them 
wrote  it,  though  it  reminds  me  of  the  style  of  these  popu- 
lar writers.  I  think  the  fellow  that  wrote  it  must  have 
been  reading  some  of  their  stories,  and  got  them  mixed 
up  with  his  history  and  geography.  I  don't  suppose  he 
lies ;  he  sells  it  to  the  editor,  who  knows  how  many  squares 
off  "Sumatra"  is.  The  editor,  who  sells  it  to  the  public — 
by  the  way,  the  papers  have  been  very  civil — haven't  they  ? 
— to  the — the — what  d'ye  call  it? — "Northern  Maga- 
zine/'— isn't  it? — got  up  by  some  of  these  Come-outers, 
down  East,  as  an  organ  for  their  local  peculiarities. 

It  is  a  very  dangerous  thing  for  a  literary  man  to  in- 
dulge his  love  for  the  ridiculous.  People  laugh  with  him 
just  so  long  as  he  amuses  them ;  but  if  he  attempts  to  be 
serious,  they  must  still  have  their  laugh,  and  so  they 
laugh  at  him.  There  is  in  addition,  however,  a  deeper 
reason  for  this  than  would  at  first  appear.  Do  you  know 
that  you  feel  a  little  superior  to  every  man  who  makes 
you  laugh,  whether  by  making  faces  or  verses  ?  Are  you 
aware  that  you  have  a  pleasant  sense  of  patronizing  him, 
when  you  condescend  so  far  as  to  let  him  turn  somersets, 
literal  or  literary,  for  your  royal  delight?  Now  if  a  man 
can  only  be  allowed  to  stand  on  a  dais,  or  raised  platform, 
and  look  down  on  his  neighbor  who  is  exerting  his  talent 

757 


THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST  TABLE 

for  him,  oh,  it  is  all  right ! — first-rate  performance ! — and 
all  the  rest  of  the  fine  phrases.  But  if  all  at  once  the  per- 
former asks  the  gentleman  to  come  upon  the  floor,  and, 
stepping  upon  the  platform,  begins  to  talk  down  at  him, — 
ah,  that  wasn't  in  the  program ! 

I  have  never  forgotten  what  happened  when  Sydney 
Smith — who,  as  everybody  knows,  was  an  exceedingly 
sensible  man,  and  a  gentleman,  every  inch  of  him — ven- 
tured to  preach  a  sermon  on  the  Duties  of  Royalty.  The 
"Quarterly,"  "so  savage  and  tartly,"  came  down  upon 
him  in  the  most  contemptuous  style,  as  "a  joker  of  jokes," 
a  "diner-out  of  the  first  water"  in  one  of  his  own  phrases ; 
sneering  at  him,  insulting  him,  as  nothing  but  a  toady  of 
a  court,  sneaking  behind  the  anonymous,  would  ever  have 
been  mean  enough  to  do  to  a  man  of  his  position  and 
genius,  or  to  any  decent  person  even. — If  I  were  giving 
advice  to  a  young  fellow  of  talent,  with  two  or  three 
facets  to  his  mind,  I  would  tell  him  by  all  means  to  keep 
his  wit  in  the  background  until  after  he  had  made  a  repu- 
tation by  his  more  solid  qualities.  And  so  to  an  actor: 
Hamlet  first  and  Bob  Logic  afterward,  if  you  like;  but 
don't  think,  as  they  say  poor  Liston  used  to,  that  people 
will  be  ready  to  allow  that  you  can  do  anything  great  with 
Macbeth' s  dagger  after  flourishing  about  with  Paul  Pry's 
umbrella.  Do  you  know,  too,  that  the  majority  of  men 
look  upon  all  who  challenge  their  attention, — for  a  while, 
at  least, — as  beggars,  and  nuisances  ?  They  always  try  to 
get  off  as  cheaply  as  they  can;  and  the  cheapest  of  all 
things  they  can  give  a  literary  man — pardon  the  forlorn 
pleasantry! — is  the  funny-bonz.  That  is  all  very  well  so 
far  as  it  goes,  but  satisfies  no  man,  and  makes  a  good 
many  angry,  as  I  told  you  on  a  former  occasion. 

Oh,   indeed,   no! — I   am  not  ashamed   to   make  you 
laugh,  occasionally.   I  think  I  could  read  you  something 

758 


OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES 

I  have  in  my  desk  that  would  probably  make  you  smile. 
Perhaps  I  will  read  it  one  of  these  days,  if  you  are  patient 
with  me  when  I  am  sentimental  and  reflective;  not  just 
now.  The  ludicrous  has  its  place  in  the  universe ;  it  is  not 
a  human  invention,  but  one  of  the  Divine  ideas,  illustrated 
in  the  practical  jokes  as  kittens  and  monkeys  long  before 
Aristophanes  or  Shakespeare.  How  curious  it  is  that  we 
always  consider  solemnity  and  the  absence  of  all  gay  sur- 
prises and  encounter  of  wits  as  essential  to  the  idea  of 
the  future  life  of  those  whom  we  thus  deprive  of  half 
their  faculties  and  then  called  blessed!  There  are  not  a 
few  who,  even  in  this  life,  seem  to  be  preparing  them- 
selves for  that  smileless  eternity  to  which  they  look  for- 
ward, by  banishing  all  gaiety  from  their  hearts  and  all 
joyousness  from  their  countenances.  I  meet  one  such  in 
the  street  not  unfrequently,  a  person  of  intelligence  and 
education,  but  who  gives  me  (and  all  that  he  passes)  such 
a  rayless  and  chilling  look  of  recognition, — something  as 
if  he  were  one  of  Heaven's  assessors,  come  down  to 
"doom"  every  acquaintance  he  met, — that  I  have  some- 
times begun  to  sneeze  on  the  spot,  and  gone  home  with  a 
violent  cold,  dating  from  that  instant.  I  don't  doubt  he 
would  cut  his  kitten's  tail  off,  if  he  caught  her  playing 
with  it.  Please  tell  me,  who  taught  her  to  play  with  it  ? 


759 


CESAR'S  QUIET  LUNCH  WITH  CICERO 

BY  JAMES  T.   FIELDS 

Have  you  read  how  Julius  Caesar 

Made  a  call  on  Cicero 
In  his  modest  Formian  villa, 

Many  and  many  a  year  ago  ? 

"I  shall  pass  your  way,"  wrote  Caesar, 

"On  the  Saturnalia,  Third, 
And  I'll  just  drop  in,  my  Tullius, 

For  a  quiet  friendly  word : 

"Don't  make  a  stranger  of  me,  Marc, 

Nor  be  at  all  put  out, 
A  snack  of  anything  you  have 

Will  serve  my  need,  no  doubt. 

"I  wish  to  show  my  confidence — 
The  invitation's  mine — 
I  come  to  share  your  simple  food, 
And  taste  your  honest  wine." 

Up  rose  M.  Tullius  Cicero, 
And  seized  a  Roman  punch, — 

Then  mused  upon  the  god-like  soul 
Was  coming  round  to  lunch. 
760 


JAMES    T.    FIELDS 

"By  Hercules !"  he  murmured  low 

Unto  his  lordly  self, 
"There  are  not  many  dainties  left 

Upon  my  pantry  shelf! 


<.( 


a 


But  what  I  have  shall  Julius  share. 

What,  ho !"  he  proudly  cried, 
Great  Caesar  comes  this  way  anon 

To  sit  my  chair  beside. 


"A  dish  of  lampreys  quickly  stew, 
And  cook  them  with  a  turn, 
For  that's  his  favorite  pabulum 
From  Mamurra  I  learn." 


His  slaves  obey  their  lord's  command ; 

The  table  soon  is  laid 
For  two  distinguished  gentlemen, — 

One  rather  bald,  'tis  said. 

When  lo !  a  messenger  appears 
To  sound  approach — and  then, 

Brave  Caesar  comes  to  greet  his  friend 
With  twice  a  thousand  men! 


<( 


"His  cohorts  rend  the  air  with  shouts  ; 
That  is  their  dust  you  see ; 
The  trumpeters  announce  him  near!" 
Said  Marcus,  "Woe  is  me! 

"Fly,  Cassius,  fly !  assign  a  guard ! 
Borrow  what  tents  you  can ! 
Encamp  his  soldiers  round  the  field, 
Or  I'm  a  ruined  man ! 
761 


CESAR'S    QUIET    LUNCH    WITH    CICERO 

"Get  sheep  and  oxen  by  the  score! 

Buy  corn  at  any  price ! 
O  Jupiter !  befriend  me  now, 

And  give  me  your  advice!" 


It  turned  out  better  than  he  feared, — 
Tilings  proved  enough  and  good, — 

And  Caesar  made  himself  at  home, 
And  much  enjoyed  his  food. 

But  Marcus  had  an  awful  fright, — 
That  can  not  be  denied ; 
"I'm  glad  'tis  over !" — when  it  was — 
The  host  sat  down  and  sighed, 

And  when  he  wrote  to  Atticus, 

And  all  the  story  told, 
He  ended  his  epistle  thus  : 

"J.  C.  's  a  warrior  bold, 


a 


A  vastly  entertaining  man, 
In  Learning  quite  immense, 

So  full  of  literary  skill, 

And  most  uncommon  sense, 


"But,  frankly,  I  should  never  say 
'No  trouble,  sir,  at  all ; 
And  when  you  pass  this  way  again, 
Give  us  another  call!'  " 


762 


COMIN'  HOME  THANKSGIVIN' 

BY   JAMES   BALL   NAYLOR 

I've  clean  fergot  my  rheumatiz — 

Hain't  nary  limp  n'r  hobble; 
I'm  feelin'  like  a  turkey-cock — 

An'  ready  'most  to  gobble; 
I'm  workin'  spry,  an'  steppin'  high — 

An'  thinkin'  life  worth  livin'. 
Fer  all  the  children's  comin'  home 

All  comin'  home  Thanksgivin'. 

There's  Mary  up  at  Darby  Town, 

An'  Sally  down  at  Goshen, 
An'  Billy  out  at  Kirkersville, 

An'  Jim — who  has  a  notion 
That  Hackleyburg's  the  very  place 

Fer  which  his  soul  has  striven ; 
They're  all  a-comin'  home  ag'in — 

All  comin'  home  Thanksgivin'. 

Yes — yes !  They're  all  a-comin'  back ; 

There  ain't  no  ifs  n'r  maybes. 
The  boys'll  fetch  the'r  wives  an'  kids ; 

The  gals,  th'r  men  an'  babies. 
The  ol'  place  will  be  upside-down ; 

An'  me  an'  Mammy  driven 
To  roost  out  in  the  locus'  trees — 

When  they  come  home  Thanksgivin'. 

7r>3 


COMIN'    HOME    THANKSGIVING 

Fer  Mary  she  has  three  'r  four 

Misc/^<?vous  little  tykes,  sir, 
An'  Sally  has  a  houseful  more — 

You  never  seen  the  like,  sir ; 
While  Jim  has  six,  an'  Billy  eight — 

They'll  tear  the  house  to  flinders, 
An'  dig  the  cellar  out  in  chunks 

An'  pitch  it  through  the  winders. 

The  gals  '11  tag  me  to  the  barn ; 

An'  climb  the  mows,  an'  waller 
All  over  ev'ry  ton  o'  hay — 

An'  laugh  an'  scream  an'  holler. 
The  boys  '11  git  in  this  an'  that ; 

An'  git  a  lickin' — p'r'aps,  sir — 
Jest  like  the'r  daddies  used  to  git 

When  they  was  little  chaps,  sir. 

But — lawzee-me! — w'y,  I  won't  care. 

I'm  jest  so  glad  they're  comin', 
I  have  to  whistle  to  the  tune 

That  my  ol'  heart's  a-hummin'. 
An'  me  an'  Mammy — well,  we  think 

It's  good  to  be  a-livin', 
Sence  all  the  children's  comin'  home 

To  spend  the  day  Thanksgivin'. 


764 


PRAISE-GOD  BAREBONES 

BY   ELLEN   MACKAY   HUTCHINSON    CORTISSOZ 

I  and  my  cousin  Wildair  met 

And  tossed  a  pot  together — 
Burnt  sack  it  was  that  Molly  brewed, 

For  it  was  nipping  weather. 
'Fore  George !  To  see  Dick  buss  the  wench 

Set  all  the  inn  folk  laughing ! 
They  dubbed  him  pearl  of  cavaliers 

At  kissing  and  at  quaffing. 

"Oddsfish  I"  says  Dick,  "the  sack  is  rare, 
And  rarely  burnt,  fair  Molly ; 
'Twould  cure  the  sourest  Crop-ear  yet 
Of  Pious  Melancholy." 
"Egad !"  says  I,  "here  cometh  one 

Hath  been  at  's  prayers  but  lately." 

Sooth,  Master  Praise-God  Barebones  stepped 

Along  the  street  sedately. 

Dick  Wildair,  with  a  swashing  bow, 

And  touch  of  his  Toledo, 
Gave  Merry  Xmas  to  the  rogue 
And  bade  him  say  his  Credo ; 
Next  crush  a  cup  to  the  King's  health, 
And  eke  to  pretty  Molly ; 
"  'T  will  cure  your  saintliness,"  says  Dick, 
"Of  Pious  Melancholy." 
765 


PRAISE-GOD    BAREBONES 

Then  Master  Barebones  stopped  and  frowned ; 

My  heart  stood  still  a  minute ; 
Thinks  I,  both  Dick  and  I  will  hang, 

Or  else  the  devil 's  in  it ! 
For  me,  I  care  not  for  old  Noll, 

Nor  all  the  Rump  together. 
Yet,  faith !  't  is  best  to  be  alive 

In  pleasant  Xmas  weather. 

His  worship,  Barebones,  grimly  smiled; 

"I  love  not  blows  nor  brawling ; 
Yet  will  I  give  thee,  fool,  a  pledge !" 

And,  zooks !  he  sent  Dick  sprawling ! 
When  Moll  and  I  helped  Wildair  up, 

No  longer  trim  and  jolly — 
"Feelst  not,  Sir  Dick,"  says  saucy  Moll, 

"A  Pious  Melancholy?" 


766 


THE   LOAFER   AND    THE   SQUIRE 

BY    PORTE    CRAYON 

The  squire  himself  was  the  type  of  a  class  found  only 
among  the  rural  population  of  our  Southern  States — a 
class,  the  individuals  of  which  are  connected  by  a  gen- 
eral similarity  of  position  and  circumstance,  but  present 
a  field  to  the  student  of  man  infinite  in  variety,  rich  in 
originality. 

As  the  isolated  oak  that  spreads  his  umbrageous  top 
in  the  meadow  surpasses  his  spindling  congener  of  the 
forest,  so  does  the  country  gentleman,  alone  in  the  midst 
of  his  broad  estate,  outgrow  the  man  of  crowds  and 
conventionalities  in  our  cities.  The  oak  may  have  the 
advantage  in  the  comparison,  as  his  locality  and  conse- 
quent superiority  are  permanent.  The  Squire,  out  of  his 
own  district,  we  ignore.  Whether  intrinsically,  or  sim- 
ply in  default  of  comparison,  at  home  he  is  invariably  a 
great  man.  Such,  at  least,  was  Squire  Hardy.  Sour  and 
cynical  in  speech,  yet  overflowing  with  human  kind- 
ness; contemning  luxury  and  expense  in  dress  and  equi- 
page, but  princely  in  his  hospitality;  praising  the  olden 
time  to  the  disparagement  of  the  present ;  the  mortal  foe 
of  progressionists  and  fast  people  in  every  department; 
above  all,  a  philosopher  of  his  own  school,  he  judged  by 
the  law  of  Procrustes,  and  permitted  no  appeals ;  opinion- 
ated and  arbitrary  as  the  Czar,  he  was  sauced  by  his 
negroes,  respected  and  loved  by  his  neighbors,  led  by  the 

767 


THE  LOAFER  AND  THE  SQUIRE 

nose  by  his  wife  and  daughters,  and  the  abject  slave  of  his 
grandchildren. 

His  house  was  as  big  as  a  barn,  and,  as  his  sons  and 
daughters  married,  they  brought  their  mates  home  to  the 
old  mansion.  "It  will  be  time  enough  for  them  to  hive," 
quoth  the  Squire,  "when  the  old  box  is  full." 

Notwithstanding  his  contempt  for  fast  men  nowa- 
days, he  is  rather  pleased  with  any  allusion  to  his  own 
youthful  reputation  in  that  line,  and  not  unfrequently 
tells  a  good  story  on  himself.  We  can  not  omit  one  told 
by  a  neighbor,  as  being  characteristic  of  the  times  and 
manners  forty  years  ago  : 

At  Culpepper  Court-house,  or  some  court-house  there- 
about, Dick  Hardy,  then  a  good-humored,  gay  young 
bachelor,  and  the  prime  favorite  of  both  sexes,  was  called 
upon  to  carve  the  pig  at  the  court  dinner.  The  district 
judge  was  at  the  table,  the  lawyers,  justices,  and  every- 
body else  that  felt  disposed  to  dine.  At  Dick's  right 
elbow  sat  a  militia  colonel,  who  was  tricked  out  in  all 
the  pomp  and  circumstance  admitted  by  his  rank.  He 
had  probably  been  engaged  on  some  court-martial,  im- 
posing fifty-cent  fines  on  absentees  from  the  last  general 
muster.  Howbeit  Dick,  in  thrusting  his  fork  into  the 
back  of  the  pig,  bespattered  the  officer's  regimentals  with 
some  of  the  superfluous  gravy.  "Beg  your  pardon,"  said 
Dick,  as  he  went  on  with  his  carving.  Now  these  were 
times  when  the  war  spirit  was  high,  and  chivalry  at  a 
premium.  "Beg  your  pardon"  might  serve  as  a  napkin 
to  wipe  the  stain  from  one's  honor,  but  did  not  touch  the 
question  of  the  greased  and  spotted  regimentals. 

The  colonel,  swelling  with  wrath,  seized  a  spoon,  and 
deliberately  dipping  it  into  the  gravy,  dashed  it  over 
Dick's  prominent  shirt-frill. 

All  saw  the  act,  and  with  open  eyes  and  mouth  sat  in 

768 


PORTE    CRAYON 

astonished  silence,  waiting  to  see  what  would  be  done 
next.  The  outraged  citizen  calmly  laid  down  his  knife 
and  fork,  and  looked  at  his  frill,  the  officer,  and  the  pig, 
one  after  another.  The  colonel,  unmindful  of  the  pallid 
countenance  and  significant  glances  of  the  burning  eye, 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  with  arms  akimbo,  regarding  the 
young  farmer  with  cool  disdain.  A  murmur  of  surprise 
and  indignation  arose  from  the  congregated  guests. 
Dick's  face  turned  red  as  a  turkey-gobbler's.  He  de- 
liberately took  the  pig  by  the  hind  legs,  and  with  a  sud- 
den whirl  brought  it  down  upon  the  head  of  the  unlucky 
officer.  Stunned  by  the  squashing  blow,  astounded  and 
blinded  with  streams  of  gravy  and  wads  of  stuffing,  he 
attempted  to  rise,  but  blow  after  blow  from  the  fat  pig 
fell  upon  his  bewildered  head.  He  seized  a  carving-knife 
and  attempted  to  defend  himself  with  blind  but  ineffectual 
fury,  and  at  length,  with  a  desperate  effort,  rose  and  took 
to  his  heels.  Dick  Hardy,  whose  wrath  waxed  hotter  and 
hotter,  followed,  belaboring  him  unmercifully  at  every 
step,  around  the  table,  through  the  hall,  and  into  the 
street,  the  crowd  shouting  and  applauding. 

We  are  sorry  to  learn  that  among  this  crowd  were 
lawyers,  sheriffs,  magistrates,  and  constables;  and  that 
even  his  honor  the  judge,  forgetting  his  dignity  and  po- 
sition, shouted  in  a  loud  voice,  "Give  it  to  him,  Dick 
Hardy!  There's  no  law  in  Christendom  against  basting 
a  man  with  a  roast  pig !"  Dick's  weapon  failed  before  his 
anger;  and  when  at  length  the  battered  colonel  escaped 
into  the  door  of  a  friendly  dwelling,  the  victor  had  noth- 
ing in  his  hands  but  the  hind  legs  of  the  roaster.  He  re- 
entered the  dining-room  flourishing  these  over  his  head, 
and  venting  his  still  unappeased  wrath  in  great  oaths. 

The  company  reassembled,  and  finished  their  dinner  as 
best  they  might.    In  reply  to  a  toast,   Hardy  made  a 

vol  4-u  769 


THE    LOAFER    AND    THE    SQUIRE 

speech,  wherein  he  apologized  for  sacrificing  the  princi- 
pal dinner-dish,  and,  as  he  expressed  it,  for  putting  pub- 
lic property  to  private  uses.  In  reply  to  this  speech  a 
treat  was  ordered.  In  those  good  old  days  folks  were  not 
so  virtuous  but  that  a  man  might  have  cakes  and  ale 
without  being  damned  for  it,  and  it  is  presumable  the 
day  wound  up  with  a  spree. 

After  the  squire  got  older,  and  a  family  grew  up 
around  him,  he  was  not  always  victorious  in  his  con- 
tests. For  example,  a  question  lately  arose  about  the  re- 
furnishing of  the  house.  On  their  return  from  a  visit  to 
Richmond  the  ladies  took  it  into  their  heads  that  the 
parlors  looked  bare  and  old-fashioned,  and  it  was  decided 
by  them  in  secret  conclave  that  a  change  was  necessary. 

"What!"  said  he,  in  a  towering  passion,  "isn't  it 
enough  that  you  spend  your  time  and  money  in  vinegar 
to  sour  sweet  peaches,  and  your  sugar  to  sweeten  crab- 
apples,  that  you  must  turn  the  house  you  were  born  in 
topsy-turvy  ?  God  help  us !  we've  a  house  with  windows 
to  let  the  light  in,  and  you  want  curtains  to  keep  it  out ; 
we've  plastered  the  walls  to  make  them  white,  and  now 
you  want  to  paste  blue  paper  over  them;  we've  waxed 
floors  to  walk  on,  and  we  must  pay  two  dollars  a  yard 
for  a  carpet  to  save  the  oak  plank!  Begone  with  your 
nonsense,  ye  demented  jades !" 

The  squire  smote  the  oak  floor  with  his  heavy  cane, 
and  the  rosy  petitioners  fled  from  his  presence  laughing. 
In  due  time,  however,  the  parlors  were  furnished  with 
carpets,  curtains,  paper,  and  all  the  fixtures  of  modern 
luxury.  The  ladies  were,  of  course,  greatly  delighted; 
and  while  professing  great  aversion  and  contempt  for  the 
"tawdry  lumber,"  it  was  plain  to  see  that  the  worthy 
man  enjoyed  their  pleasure  as  much  as  they  did  the  new 
furniture. 

770 


PORTE    CRAYON 

On  another  occasion,  too,  did  the  doughty  squire  suffer 
defeat  under  circumstances  far  more  humiliating,  and 
from  an  adversary  far  less  worthy. 

The  western  horizon  was  blushing  rosy  red  at  the 
coming  of  the  sun,  whose  descending  chariot  was  hidden 
by  the  thick  Indian-summer  haze  that  covered  lowland 
and  mountain  as  it  were  with  a  violet-tinted  veil.  This 
was  the  condition  of  things  (we  were  going  to  say) 
when  Squire  Hardy  sallied  forth,  charged  with  a  small 
bag  of  salt,  for  the  purpose  of  looking  after  his  farm 
generally,  and  particularly  of  salting  his  sheep.  It  was 
an  interesting  sight  to  see  the  old  gentleman,  with  his 
dignified,  portly  figure,  marching  at  the  head  of  a  long 
procession  of  improved  breeds — the  universally-received 
emblems  of  innocence  and  patience.  Barring  his  modern 
costume,  he  might  have  suggested  to  the  artist's  mind  a 
picture  of  one  of  the  Patriarchs. 

Having  come  to  a  convenient  place,  or  having  tired 
himself  crying  co-nan,  co-nan,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  the 
squire  halted.  The  black  ram  halted,  and  the  long  pro- 
cession of  ewes  and  well-grown  lambs  moved  up  in  a 
dense  semicircle,  and  also  halted,  expressing  their  pleasure 
at  the  expected  treat  by  gentle  bleatings.  The  squire 
stooped  to  spread  the  salt.  The  black  ram,  either  from 
most  uncivil  impatience,  or  mistaking  the  movement  of  the 
proprietor's  coat-tail  for  a  challenge,  pitched  into  him  in- 
continently. "Plenum  sed,"  as  the  Oxonions  say.  An  at- 
tack from  behind,  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  threw  the 
squire  sprawling  on  his  face  into  a  stone  pile. 

Oh,  never  was  the  thunder's  jar, 

The  red  tornado's  wasting  wing, 
Or  all  the  elemental  war, 

like  the  fury  of  Squire  Hardy  on  that  occasion. 

771 


THE  LOAFER  AND  THE  SQUIRE 

He  recovered  his  feet  with  the  agility  of  a  boy,  his 
nose  bleeding  and  a  stone  in  each  hand.  The  timid  flock 
looked  all  aghast,  while  the  audacious  offender,  so  far 
from  having  shown  any  disposition  to  skulk,  stood  shak- 
ing his  head  and  threatening,  as  if  he  had  a  mind  to  fol- 
low up  the  dastardly  attack.  The  squire  let  fly  one  stone, 
which  grazed  the  villain's  head  and  killed  a  lamb.  With 
the  other  he  crippled  a  favorite  ewe.  The  ram  still 
showed  fight,  and  the  vengeful  proprietor  would  proba- 
bly have  soon  decimated  his  flock  had  not  Porte  Crayon 
(who  had  been  squirrel-shooting)  made  his  appearance 
in  time  to  save  them. 

"Quick,  quick!  young  man — your  gun;  let  me  shoot 
the  cursed  brute  on  the  spot." 

The  squire  was  frantic  with  rage,  the  cause  of  which 
our  hero,  having  seen  something  of  the  affray,  easily 
divined.  He  was  unwilling,  however,  to  trust  his  hair- 
triggered  piece  in  the  hands  of  his  excited  host. 

"By  your  leave,  Squire,  and  by  your  orders,  I'll  do  the 
shooting  myself.  Which  of  them  was  it?" 

"The  ram — the  d — d  black  ram — kill  him — shoot — 
don't  let  him  live  a  minute !" 

Crayon  leveled  his  piece  and  fired.  The  offender  made 
a  bound  and  fell  dead,  the  black  blood  spouting  from  his 
forehead  in  a  stream  as  thick  as  your  thumb. 

"There,  now,"  exclaimed  the  squire,  with  infinite  satis- 
faction, "you've  got  it,  you  ungrateful  brute!  You've 
found  something  harder  than  your  own  head  at  last,  you 
cursed  reptile!  Friend  Crayon,  that's  a  capital  gun  of 
yours,  and  you  shot  well." 

The  squire  dropped  the  stones  which  he  had  in  his 
hands,  and  looking  back  at  the  dead  body  of  the  belliger- 
ent sheep,  observed,  with  a  thoughtful  air,  "He  was  a  fine 


yj2 


PORTE    CRAYON 

animal,  Mr.  Crayon — a  fine  animal,  and  this  will  teach 
him  a  good  lesson." 

"In  all  likelihood,"  replied  Crayon,  dryly,  "it  will 
break  him  of  this  trick  of  butting." 

Not  long  after  this  occurrence,  Squire  Hardy  went  to 
hear  an  itinerant  phrenologist  who  lectured  in  the  village. 
In  the  progress  of  his  discourse,  the  lecturer,  for  pur- 
poses of  illustration,  introduced  the  skulls  of  several  ani- 
mals, mapped  off  in  the  most  correct  and  scientific  man- 
ner. 

"Observe,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  head  of  the  wolf: 
combativeness  enormously  developed,  alimentiveness 
large,  while  conscientiousness  is  entirely  wanting.  On 
the  other  hand,  look  at  this  cranium.  Here  combativeness 
is  a  nullity — absolutely  wanting — while  the  fullness  of 
the  sentimental  organs  indicate  at  once  the  mild  and 
peaceful  disposition  of  the  sheep." 

The  squire,  who  had  listened  with  great  attention  up 
to  this  point,  hastily  rose  to  his  feet. 

"A  sheep !"  he  exclaimed ;  "did  you  call  a  sheep  a  peace- 
ful animal?  I  tell  you,  sir,  it  is  the  most  ferocious  and 
unruly  beast  in  existence.   Sir,  I  had  a  ram  once — " 

"My  dear  sir,"  cried  the  astonished  lecturer,  "on  the 
authority  of  our  most  distinguished  writers,  the  sheep  is 
an  emblem  of  peace  and  innocence." 

"An  emblem  of  the  devil,"  interrupted  the  squire,  boil- 
ing over.  "You  are  an  ignorant  impostor,  and  your 
science  a  humbug.  I  had  a  ram  once  that  would  have 
taught  you  more  in  five  seconds  than  you've  learned  from 
books  in  all  your  lifetime." 

And  so  Squire  Hardy  put  on  his  hat  and  walked  out, 
leaving  the  lecturer  to  rectify  his  blunder  as  best  he 
might. 


773 


DE  STOVE  PIPE  HOLE* 

BY    WILLIAM    HENRY   DRUMMOND 

Dat's  very  cole  an'  stormy  night  on  Village  St.  Mathieu, 
Wen  ev'ry  wan  he's  go  couche,  an'  dog  was  quiet,  too — 
Young  Dominique  is  start  heem  out  see  Emmeline  Gour- 

don, 
Was  leevin'  on  her  fader's  place,  Maxime  de  Forgeron. 

Poor  Dominique  he's  lak  dat  girl,  an'  love  her  mos'  de 

tarn, 
An'  she  was  mak'  de  promise — sure — some  day  she  be  his 

famme, 
But  she  have  worse  ole  fader  dat's  never  on  de  worl', 
Was  swear  onless  he's  riche  lak  diable,  no  feller's  get  hees 

girl. 

He's  mak'  it  plaintee  fuss  about  hees  daughter  Emmeline, 
Dat's  mebby  nice  girl,  too,  but  den,  Mon  Dieu,  she's  not 

de  queen ! 
<'  An'  w'en  de  young  man's  come  aroun'  for  spark  it  on  de 

door, 
An'  hear  de  ole  man  swear  "Bapteme !"  he's  never  come 

no  more. 

*From  "The  Habitant  and  Other  French  Canadian  Poems,"  by 
William  Henry  Drummond.  Copyright  1897  by  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 

774 


WILLIAM    HENRY    DRUMMOND 

Young  Dominique  he's  sam'  de  res', — was  scare  for  ole 

Maxime, 
He  don't  lak  risk  hese'f  too  moche  for  chances  seein' 

heem, 
Dat's  only  stormy  night  he  come,  so  dark  you  can  not  see, 
An  dat's  de  reason  w'y  also,  he's  climb  de  gallerie. 

De  girl  she's  waitin'  dere  for  heem — don't  care  about  de 

rain, 
So  glad  for  see  young  Dominique  he's  comin'  back  again, 
Dey  bote  forget  de  ole  Maxime,  an'  mak  de  embrasser 
An  after  dey  was  finish  dat,  poor  Dominique  is  say — 

"Good-by,  dear  Emmeline,  good-by ;  I'm  goin'  very  soon, 
For  you  I  got  no  better  chance,  dan  feller  on  de  moon — 
It's  all  de  fault  your  fader,  too,  dat  I  be  go  away, 
He's  got  no  use  for  me  at  all — I  see  dat  ev'ry  day. 

"He's  never  meet  me  on  de  road  but  he  is  say  'Sapre !' 
An'  if  he  ketch  me  on  de  house  I'm  scare  he's  killin'  me, 
So  I  mus'  lef  ole  St.  Mathieu,  for  work  on  'noder  place, 
An'  till  I  mak  de  beeg  for-tune,  you  never  see  ma  face." 

Den  Emmeline  say  "Dominique,  ma  love  you'll  alway  be 
An'  if  you  kiss  me  two,  t'ree  tarn  I'll  not  tole  noboddy — 
But  prenez  garde  ma  fader,  please,  I  know  he's  gettin' 

ole — 
All  sam'  he  often  walk  de  house  upon  de  stockin'  sole. 

"Good-by,  good-by,  cher  Dominique !  I  know  you  will  be 

true, 
I  don't  want  no  riche  feller  me,  ma  heart  she  go  wit'  you," 
Dat's  very  quick  he's  kiss  her  den,  before  de  fader  come, 
But  don't  get  too  moche  pleasurement — so  'fraid  de  oJe 

Bonhomme. 

775 


DE    STOVE    PIPE    HOLE 

Wall !  jus'  about  dey're  half  way  t'roo  wit  all  dat  love 

beez-nesse 
Emmeline  say,  "Dominique,  w'at  for  you're  scare  lak  all 

de  res'  ? 
Don't  see  mese'f  moche  danger  now  de  ole  man  come 

aroun'," 
Wen  minute  after  dat,  dere's  noise,  lak'  house  she's  fallin' 

down. 

Den  Emmeline  she  holler  "Fire!  will  no  wan  come  for 
me?" 

An'  Dominique  is  jomp  so  high,  near  bus'  de  gallerie, — 

"Help !  help !  right  off,"  somebody  shout,  "I'm  killin'  on 
ma  place, 

It's  all  de  fault  ma  daughter,  too,  dat  girl  she's  ma  dis- 
grace." 

He's  kip  it  up  long  tarn  lak  dat,  but  not  hard  tellin'  now, 
Wat's  all  de  noise  upon  de  house — who's  kick  heem  up 

de  row  ? 
It  seem  Bonhomme  was  sneak  aroun'  upon  de  stockin' 

sole, 
An'  firs'  t'ing  den  de  ole  man  walk  right  t'roo  de  stove 

pipe  hole. 

Wen  Dominique  is  see  heem  dere,  wit'  wan  leg  hang  be- 
r  low, 

An'  'noder  leg  straight  out  above,  he's  glad  for  ketch 

heem  so— 
De  ole  man  can't  do  not'ing,  den,  but  swear  and  ax  for 

w'y 
Noboddy  tak'  heem  out  dat  hole  before  he's  comin'  die. 

776 


WILLIAM    HENRY    DRUMMOND 

Den  Dominique  he  spik  lak  dis,  "Mon  cher  M'sieur  Gour- 

don 
I'm  not  riche  city  feller,  me,  I'm  only  habitant, 
But  I  was  love  more  I  can  tole  your  daughter  Emmeline, 
An'  if  I  marry  on  dat  girl,  Bagosh !  she's  lak  de  Queen. 

"I  want  you  mak  de  promise  now,  before  it's  come  too 

late, 
An'  I  mus'  tole  you  dis  also,  dere's  not  moche  tarn  for 

wait. 
Your  foot  she's  hangin'  down  so  low,  I'm  'fraid  she  ketch 

de  cole, 
Wall !  if  you  give  me  Emmeline,  I  pull  you  out  de  hole." 

Dat  mak'  de  ole  man  swear  more  hard  he  never  swear  be- 
fore, 

An'  wit'  de  foot  he's  got  above,  he's  kick  it  on  de  floor, 

"Non,  non,"  he  say  "Sapre  tonnerre!  she  never  marry 
you, 

An'  if  you  don't  look  out  you  get  de  jail  on  St.  Mathieu." 

"Correc',"  young  Dominique  is  say,  "mebbe  de  jail's  tight 

place, 
But  you  got  wan  small  corner,  too,  I  see  it  on  de  face, 
So  if  you  don't  lak  geev  de  girl  on  wan  poor  habitant, 
Dat's  be  mese'f,  I  say,  Bonsoir,  mon  cher  M'sieur  Gour- 

don." 

"Come  back,  come  back,"  Maxime  is  shout — "I  promise 

you  de  girl, 
I  never  see  no  wan  lak  you — no  never  on  de  worl' ! 
It's  not  de  nice  trick  you  was  play  on  man  dat's  gettin'  ole, 
But  do  jus'  w'at  you  lak,  so  long  you  pull  me  out  de  hole." 

777 


DE    STOVE    PIPE    HOLE 

"Hooraw !   Hooraw !"   Den  Dominique  is  pull  heem  out 

tout  suite 
An'  Emmeline  she's  helpin'  too  for  place  heem  on  de  feet, 
An'  affer  dat  de  ole  man's  tak'  de  young  peep  down  de 

stair, 
Were  he  is  go  couche  right  off,  an'  dey  go  on  parloir. 

Nex'  Sunday  morning  dey  was  call  by  M'sieur  le  Cure 
Get  marry  soon,  an'  ole  Maxime  geev  Emmeline  away ; 
Den  affer  dat  dey  settle  down  lak  habitant  is  do, 
An'  have  de  mos'  fine  familee  on  Village  St.  Mathieu. 


77* 


THE  GIRL  FROM  MERCURY 
An  Interplanetary  Love  Story 

Being  the  Interpretation  of  Certain  Phonic  Vibragraphs 
Recorded  by  the  Long's  Peak  Wireless  Installation, 
Now  for  the  First  Time  Made  Public  Through  the 
Courtesy  of  Professor  Caditcious,  Ph.  D.,  Sometime 
Secretary  of  the  Boidder  Branch  of  the  Association  for 
the  Advancement  of  Interplanetary  Communication. 

BY  HERMAN  KNICKERBOCKER   VIELE 

It  is  evident  that  the  following  logograms  form  part 
of  a  correspondence  between  a  young  lady,  formerly  of 
Mercury,  and  her  confidential  friend  still  resident  upon 
the  inferior  planet.  The  translator  has  thought  it  best 
to  preserve,  as  far  as  possible,  the  spirit  of  the  original 
by  the  employment  of  mundane  colloquialisms;  the  re- 
sult, in  spite  of  many  regrettable  trivialities,  will,  it  is  be- 
lieved, be  of  interest  to  students  of  Cosmic  Sociology. 

The  First  Record 

Yes,  dear,  it's  me.  I'm  down  here  on  the  Earth  and  in 
our  Settlement  House,  safe  and  sound.  I  meant  to  have 
called  you  up  before,  but  really  this  is  the  first  moment  I 
have  had  to  myself  all  day. — Yes,  of  course,  I  said  "all 
day."  You  know  very  well  they  have  days  and  nights 
here,  because  this  restless  little  planet  spins,  or  something 
of  the  sort. — I  haven't  the  least  idea  why  it  does  so,  and 

779 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

I  don't  care. — I  did  not  come  here  to  make  intelligent  ob- 
servations like  a  dowdy  "Seeing  Saturn"  tourist.  So 
don't  be  Uranian.  Try  to  exercise  intuitive  perception  if 
I  say  anything  you  can't  understand. — What  is  that? — 
Please  concentrate  a  little  harder. — Oh !  Yes,  I  have  seen 
a  lot  of  human  beings  already,  and  would  you  believe  it? 
some  of  them  seem  almost  possible — especially  one. — But 
I  will  come  to  that  one  later.  I've  got  so  much  to  tell 
you  all  at  once  I  scarcely  know  where  to  begin. — Yes, 
dear,  the  One  happens  to  be  a  man.  You  would  not  have 
me  discriminate,  would  you,  when  our  object  is  to  bring 
whatever  happiness  we  can  to  those  less  fortunate  than 
ourselves?  You  know  success  in  slumming  depends  first 
of  all  upon  getting  yourself  admired,  for  then  the  others 
will  want  to  be  like  you,  and  once  thoroughly  dissatisfied 
with  themselves  they  are  almost  certain  to  reform.  Of 
course  I  am  only  a  visitor  here,  and  shall  not  stay  long 
enough  to  take  up  serious  work,  so  Ooma  says  I  may  as 
well  proceed  along  the  line  of  least  resistance. — If  you 
remember  Ooma's  enthusiasm  when  she  ran  the  Board  of 
Missions  to  Inferior  Planets,  you  can  fancy  her  now  that 
she  has  an  opportunity  to  carry  out  all  her  theories.  Oh> 
she's  great! 

My  transmigration  was  disappointing  as  an  experience. 
It  was  nothing  more  than  going  to  sleep  and  dreaming 
about  circles — orange  circles,  yellow  circles,  with  a  thou- 
sand others  of  graduated  shades  between,  and  so  on 
through  the  spectrum  till  you  pass  absolute  green  and 
get  a  tone  or  two  toward  blue  and  strike  the  Earth  color- 
note.  Then  with  me  everything  got  jumbled  together 
and  seemed  about  to  take  new  shapes,  and  I  woke  up  in 
the  most  commonplace  manner  and  opened  my  eyes  to 
find  myself  externalized  in  our  Earth  Settlement  House 
with  Ooma  laughing  at  me. 

780 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIELE 

"Don't  stir!"  she  cried.  "Don't  lift  a  finger  till  we  are 
sure  your  specific  gravity  is  all  right."  And  then  she 
pinched  me  to  see  if  I  was  dense  enough,  because  the  at- 
mosphere is  heavier  or  lighter  or  something  here  than 
with  us. 

I  reminded  her  that  matter  everywhere  must  maintain 
an  absolute  equilibrium  with  its  environment,  but  she  pro- 
tested. 

"That's  well  enough  in  theory;  you  must  understand 
that  the  Earth  is  awfully  out  of  tune  at  present,  and  some- 
times it  requires  time  to  readjust  ourselves  to  its  condi- 
tions." 

— I  did  not  say  so,  but  I  fancy  Ooma  may  have  been 
undergoing  readjustment. — My  dear,  she  has  grown  as 
pudgy  as  a  Jupitan,  and  her  clothes — but  then  she  always 
did  look  more  like  a  spiral  nebula  than  anything  else. 

(The  record  here  becomes  unintelligible  by  reason  of 
the  passage  of  a  thunder':* arm  above  the  summit  of 
Long's  Peak. ) 

— There  must  be  star-dust  in  the  ether. — I  never  had 
to  concentrate  so  hard  before. — That's  all  about  the  Set- 
tlement House,  and  don't  accuse  me  again  of  slighting 
details.  I'm  sure  you  know  the  place  now  as  well  as 
Ooma  herself,  so  I  can  go  on  to  tell  what  little  I  have 
learned  about  human  beings. 

It  seems  I  am  never  to  admit  that  I  was  not  born  on 
Earth,  for,  like  all  provincials,  the  humans  pride  them- 
selves on  disbelieving  everything  beyond  their  own  experi- 
ence, and  if  they  understood  they  would  be  certain  to  re- 
sent intrusions  from  another  planet.  I'm  sure  I  don't 
blame  them  altogether  when  I  recall  those  patronizing 
Jupitans. — And  I'm  told  they  are  awfully  jealous  and  dis- 
trustful even  of  one  another,  herding  together  for  protec- 
tion and  governed  by  so  many  funny  little  tribal  codes  that 

78i 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

what  is  right  on  one  side  of  an  imaginary  boundary  may 
be  wrong  on  the  other. — Ooma  considers  this  survival  of 
the  group-soul  most  interesting,  and  intends  to  make  it 
the  subject  of  a  paper.  I  mention  it  only  to  explain  why 
we  call  our  Settlement  a  Boarding-House.  A  Boarding- 
House,  you  must  know,  is  fundamentally  a  hunting  pack 
which  one  can  affiliate  with  or  separate  from  at  will. — 
Rather  a  pale  yellow  idea,  isn't  it  ?  Ooma  thinks  it  neces- 
sary to  conform  to  it  in  order  to  be  considered  respecta- 
ble, which  is  the  one  thing  on  Earth  most  desired. — 
What,  dear? — Oh,  I  don't  know  what  it  means  to  be  re- 
spectable any  more  than  you  do. — One  thing  more.  You'll 
have  to  draw  on  your  imagination !  Ooma  is  called  here 
Mrs.  Bloomer. — Her  own  name  was  just  a  little  too  un- 
earthly. Mrs.  signifies  that  a  woman  is  married. — 
What  ? — Oh,  no,  no,  no,  nothing  of  the  sort. — But  I  shall 
have  to  leave  that  for  another  time.  I'm  not  at  all  sure 
how  it  is  myself. 

By  the  way,  if  any  one  should  ask  you  where  I  am, 
just  say  I've  left  the  planet,  and  you  don't  know  when 
I  shall  be  back. — Yes,  you  know  who  I  mean. — And, 
dear,  perhaps  you  might  drop  a  hint  that  I  detest  all  for- 
eigners, especially  Jupitans. — Please  don't  laugh  so  hard ; 
you'll  get  the  atmospheric  molecules  all  woozy. — Indeed, 
there's  not  the  slightest  danger  here.  Just  fancy,  if  you 
please,  beings  who  don't  know  when  they  are  hungry 
without  consulting  a  wretched  little  mechanism,  and  who 
measure  their  radius  of  conception  by  the  length  of  their 
own  feet. — Of  course  I  shall  be  on  hand  for  the  Solstice ! 
I  wouldn't  miss  that  for  an  asteroid ! — Oh,  did  I  really 
promise  that?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  about  hi-m  another  time. 


782 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIELE 

The  Second  Record 
though  probably  third  communication 

— I  really  must  not  waste  so-  much  gray  matter,  dear, 
over  unimportant  details.  But  I  simply  had  to  tell  you  all 
about  my  struggles  with  the  clothes.  When  Ooma  came 
back,  just  as  I  had  mastered  them  with  the  aid  of  her 
diagrams,  the  dear  thing  was  so  much  pleased  she  actually 
hugged  me,  and  I  must  confess  the  effect  made  me  forget 
my  discomfort.  Really,  an  Earth  girl  is  not  so  much  to 
be  pitied  if  she  has  becoming  dresses  to  wear.  As  you 
may  be  sure  I  was  anxious  to  compare  myself  with  others, 
I  was  glad  enough  to  hear  Ooma  suggest  going  out. 

"Come  on,"  she  said,  executively,  "I  have  only  a  half- 
hour  to  devote  to  your  first  walk.  Keep  close  beside  me, 
and  remember  on  no  account  to  either  dance  or  sing." 

"But  if  I  see  others  dancing  may  I  not  join  them?"  I 
inquired. 

"You  won't  see  anybody  dancing  on  Broadway,"  she 
replied,  a  trifle  snubbily,  but  I  resolved  to  escape  from  her 
as  soon  as  possible  and  find  out  for  myself. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  shock  on  discovering  the  sky 
blue  instead  of  the  color  it  should  be,  but  soon  my  eyes 
became  accustomed  to  the  change.  In  fact,  I  have  not 
since  that  first  moment  been  able  to  conceive  of  the  sky 
as  anything  but  blue.  And  the  city? — Oh,  my  dear,  my 
dear,  I  never  expected  to  encounter  anything  so  much  out 
of  key  with  the  essential  euphonies.  Of  course  I  have  not 
traveled  very  much,  but  I  should  say  there  is  nothing  in 
the  universe  like  a  street  they  call  Broadway — unless  it 
be  upon  the  lesser  satellite  of  Mars,  where  the  poor  people 
are  so  awfully  cramped  for  space.  When  I  suggested  this 
to  Ooma  she  laughed  and  called  me  clever,  for  it  seems 

/83 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

there  is  a  tradition  that  a  mob  of  meddling  Martians  once 
stopped  on  Earth  long-  enough  to  give  the  foolish  humans 
false  ideas  about  architecture  and  many  other  matters. 
But  I  soon  forgot  everything  in  my  interest  in  the  people. 
Such  a  poor  puzzle-headed  lot  they  are.  One's  heart  goes 
out  to  them  at  once  as  they  push  and  jostle  one  another 
this  way  and  that,  with  no  conceivable  object  other  than 
to  get  anywhere  but  where  they  are  in  the  shortest  time 
possible.  One  longs  to  help  them ;  to  call  a  halt  upon  their 
senseless  struggles ;  to  reason  with  them  and  explain  how 
all  the  psychic  force  they  waste  might,  if  exerted  in  con- 
structive thought,  bring  everything  they  wish  to  pass. 
Mrs.  Bloomer  assures  me  they  only  ridicule  those  who 
venture  to  interfere,  and  it  will  take  at  least  a  Saturn 
century  to  so  much  as  start  them  in  the  right  direction. 
Our  settlement  is  their  only  hope,  she  says,  and  even  we 
can  help  them  only  indirectly. 

Not  long  ago,  it  appears,  they  had  to  choose  a  King  or 
Mayor,  or  whatever  the  creature  is  called  who  executes 
their  silly  laws,  and  our  people  so  manipulated  the  election 
that  the  choice  fell  on  one  of  us. 

I  thought  this  a  really  good  idea,  and  supposed,  of 
course,  we  must  at  once  have  set  about  demonstrating  how 
a  planet  should  be  managed.  But  no!  that  was  not  our 
system,  if  you  please.  Instead  of  making  proper  laws  our 
agent  misbehaved  himself  in  every  way  the  committee 
could  suggest,  until  at  last  the  humans  rose  against  him 
and  put  one  of  themselves  in  his  place,  and  after  that 
things  went  just  a  little  better  than  before.  This  is  the 
only  way  in  which  they  can  be  taught.  But,  dear  me, 
isn't  it  tedious? 

Of  course,  I  soon  grew  anxious  for  an  exchange  of 
thought  with  almost  any  one,  but  it  was  a  long  while  be- 
fore I  discovered  a  single  person  who  was  not  in  a  violent 

784 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIELE 

hurry.  At  last,  however,  we  came  upon  a  human  drawn 
apart  a  little  from  the  throng,  who  stood  with  folded 
arms,  engaged  apparently  in  lofty  meditation.  His  coun- 
tenance was  amiable,  although t  a  little  red. 

Saying  nothing  to  Ooma  of  my  purpose,  I  slipped 
away  from  her,  and  looking  up  into  the  creature's  eyes 
inquired  mentally  the  subject  of  his  thoughts ;  also,  how 
he  came  to  be  so  inordinately  stout,  and  why  he  wore 
bright  metal  buttons  on  his  garment.  But  my  only  an- 
swer was  a  stupid  blink,  for  his  mentality  seemed  abso- 
lutely incapable  of  receiving  suggestions  not  expressed  in 
sounds.  I  observed  farther  that  his  aura  inclined  too 
much  toward  violet  for  perfect  equipoise. 

"G'wan  out  of  this,  and  quit  yer  foolin',"  he  remarked, 
missing  my  meaning  altogether. 

Of  course  I  spoke  then,  using  the  human  speech  quite 
glibly  for  a  first  attempt,  and  hastened  to  assure  him  that 
though  I  had  no  idea  of  fooling,  I  should  not  go  on  until 
my  curiosity  had  been  satisfied.  But  just  then  Ooma 
found  me. 

"My  friend  is  a  stranger,"  she  explained  to  the  brass- 
buttoned  man. 

"Then  why  don't  you  put  a  string  to  her  ?"  he  asked. 

I  learned  later  that  I  had  been  addressing  one  of  the 
public  jesters  employed  by  the  community  to  keep  Broad- 
way from  becoming  intolerably  dull. 

"But  you  must  not  speak  to  people  in  the  street,"  said 
Ooma,  "not  even  to  policemen." 

"Then  how  am  I  to  brighten  others'  lives?"  I  asked, 
more  than  a  little  disappointed,  for  several  humans  hurry- 
ing past  had  turned  upon  me  looks  indicating  moods  re- 
ceptive of  all  the  brightening  I  could  give. 

I  might  have  amused  myself  indefinitely,  studying  the 
rapid  succession  of  varying  faces,  had  not  Bloomer  cau- 

7*5 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

tioned  me  not  to  stare.  She  said  people  would  think  me 
from  the  country,  which  is  considered  discreditable,  and 
as  this  reminded  me  that  I  had  as  yet  seen  nothing  grow- 
ing, I  asked  to  be  shown  the  gardens  and1  groves. 

"There  is  one,"  she  said,  indicating  an  open  space  not 
far  away,  where  sure  enough  there  stood  some  wretched 
looking  trees  which  I  had  not  recognized  before,  forget- 
ting that,  of  course,  leaves  here  must  be  green.  I  saw  no 
\  flowers  growing,  but  presently  we  came  upon  some  in  a 
sort  of  crystal  bower  guarded  by  a  powerful  black  person. 
I  wanted  so  to  ask  him  how  he  came  to  be  black,  but  the 
memory  of  my  last  attempt  at  information  deterred  me. 
Instead,  I  inquired  if  I  might  have  some  roses. 

"Walk  in,  Miss,"  he  replied  most  civilly,  and  in  I 
walked  through  the  door,  past  the  sweetest  little  embry- 
onic, who  wore  the  vesture  of  a  young  policeman. 

"Boy,"  I  said,  "have  you  begun  to  realize  your  soul?" 

"Nope,"  he  replied.   "I  ain't  in  fractions  yet." 

— Some  stage  of  earthly  progress,  I  suppose,  though  I 
did  not  like  a  certain  movement  of  his  eyelid,  and  one 
never  can  tell,  you  know,  how  hard  embryonics  are  really 
striving.  So  I  made  haste,  to  gather  all  the  roses  I  could 
carry,  and  was  about  to  hurry  after  Ooma,  when  a  person 
barred  my  way. 

"Hold  on !"  he  cried.  "Ain't  you  forgetting  something? 
Why  don't  you  take  the  whole  lot?" 
\  "Because  I  have  all  I  want  for  the  present,"  I  answered, 
rather  frightened,  perceiving  that  his  aura  had  grown 
livid,  and  I  don't  know  how  I  could  have  soothed  him  had 
not  Ooma  once  more  come  to  my  relief.  I  could  see  that 
she  was  annoyed  with  me,  but  she  controlled  herself  and 
placed1  some  token  in  the  being's  hand  which  acted  on  his 
agitation  like  a  charm. 

As  I  told  you,  Bloomer  had  given  me  with  the  other 

786 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIEL& 

things,  a  crown  of  artificial  roses  which,  now  that  I  had 
real  flowers  to  wear,  I  wanted  to  throw  away,  but  this 
she  would  not  permit,  insisting-  that  such  a  proceeding 
would  make  the  humans  laugh  at  me — though  to  look 
into  their  serious  faces  one  would  not  believe  this  possible. 
The  thoughts  of  those  about  me,  as  I  divined  them, 
seemed  anything  but  jocular.  They  came  to  me  incoherent 
and  inconsecutive,  a  jumble  of  conditional  premises  lead- 
ing to  approximate  conclusions  expressed  in  symbols  hav- 
ing no  intrinsic  meaning. — Of  course,  it  is  unfair  to  judge 
too  soon,  but  I  have  already  begun  to  doubt  the  existence 
of  direct  perception  among  them. — What  did  you  say, 
dear? — Bother  direct  perception? — Well,  I  wonder  how 
we  should  like  to  apprehend  nothing  that  could  not  be 
put  into  words  ?  You,  I'm  sure,  would  have  the  most  con- 
fused ideas  about  Earthly  conditions  if  you  depended  en- 
tirely upon  my  remarks. — Now  concentrate,  and  you  shall 
hear  something  really  interesting. 

— No,  not  the  One  yet. — He  comes  later. — 
We  had  not  gone  far,  I  carrying  my  roses,  and  Bloomer 
not  too  well  pleased,  as  I  fancied,  because  so  many  people 
turned  to  look  at  us  (  Bloomer  has  retrograded  physically 
until  she  is  at  times  almost  Uranian,  probably  as  the  result 
of  wearing  black,  which  appears  to  be  the  chromatic 
equivalent  of  respectability),  when  suddenly  I  became 
sensible  of  a  familiar  influence,  which  was  quite  startling 
because  so  unexpected.  Looking  everywhere,  I  caught 
sight  of — who  do  you  suppose?  Our  old  friend  Tuk. — 
Mr.  Tuck,  T-u-c-k  here,  if  you  please.  He  was  about  to 
enter  a — a  means  of  transportation,  and  though  his  back 
was  towards  me,  I  recognized  that  drab  aura  of  his  at 
once,  and  projected  a  reactionary  impulse  which  was  most 
effective. 

In  his  surprise  he  was  for  the  moment  in  danger  of 

7*7 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

being  trampled  upon  by  a  rapidly  moving  animal. — Yes, 
dear,  I  said  "animal." — I  don't  know  and  I  don't  consider 
it  at  all  important.  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  familiar  with 
mundane  zoology. — Tuck  declared  himself  delighted  to 
see  me,  and  so  I  believe  he  was,  though  he  controlled  his 
radiations  in  the  supercilious  way  he  always  had.  But 
upon  one  point  he  did  not  leave  me  long  in  doubt.  Ex- 
ternally, at  least,  my  Earthly  Ego  is  a — 

(  Note  :  The  word  which  signifies  a  species  of  peach  or 
nectarine  peculiar  to  the  planet  Mercury  is  doubtless  used 
here  in  a  symbolic  sense.) 

— I  caught  on  to  that  most  interesting  fact  the  moment 
his  eyes  rested  on  me. 

"By  all  that's  fair  to  look  upon!"  he  cried,  jumping 
about  in  a  manner  human  people  think  eccentric,  "are  you 
astral  or  actualized  ?" 

"See  for  yourself,"  I  said,  holding  out  my  hand,  which 
it  took  him  rather  longer  than  necessary  to  make  sure  of. 

"Well,  what  on  Earth  brings  you  here?  Come  down 
to  paint  another  planet  red?"  he  rattled  on,  believing  him- 
self amusing. 

"Now  haven't  I  as  much  right  to  light  on  Earth  as  on 
any  other  bit  of  cosmic  dust?"  I  asked,  laughing  and  for- 
getting how  much  snubbing  he  requires  in  the  delight  of 
seeing  any  one  I  knew. 

Then  he  insisted  that  I  had  a  "date"  with  him. — A  date, 
as  I  discovered  later,  means  something  nice  to  eat — and 
hinted  very  broadly  that  Bloomer  need  not  wait  if  she 
had  more  important  matters  to  attend  to.  I  must  confess 
she  did  not  seem  at  all  sorry  to  have  me  taken  off  her 
hands,  for  after  cautioning  me  to  beware  of  a  number  of 
things  I  did  not  so  much  as  know  by  name,  she  shot  off 
like  a  respectable  old  aerolite  with  a  black  trail  streaming 
out  behind.    If  she  remains  here  much  longer  she  will  be 

788 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIELE 

coming  back  upon  a  mission  to  reform  us.   As  for  Tuck, 
he  became  insufferably  patronizing  at  once. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  the  Only  Planet  ?  and  how  dp 
you  like  the  Only  Town  ?  and  how  do  you  like  the  Only 
Street  ?"  he  began,  waving  his  hands  and  looking  about 
him  as  though  there  were  anything  here  that  one  of  us 
could  admire.  But,  of  course,  I  refused  to  gratify  him 
with  my  crude  impressions.   I  simply  said  : 

"You  appear  very  well  pleased  with  them  yourself.'' 

"And  so  will  you  be/'  he  replied,  "when  you  have  real- 
ized their  possibilities.  Remark  that  elderly  entity  across 
the  street.  I  have  to  but  exert  my  will  that  he  shall  sneeze 
and  drop  his  eyeglasses,  and  behold,  there  they  go." — 
Yes.  my  dear,  eyeglasses.  They  are  worn  on  the  nose  by 
people  who  imagine  they  can  not  see  very  well. 

"I  consider  such  actions  cruel  and  unkind,"  I  said,  at 
the  same  time  willing  an  embryonic  girl  to  pick  the  glasses 
up,  and  though  the  child  was  rather  beyond  my  normal 
circle,  I  was  delighted  to  see  her  obey.  But  I  have  an  idea 
Tuck  regretted  an  experiment  which  taught  me  something 
I  might  not  have  found  out,  at  least  for  a  while. 

I  had  now  been  on  Earth  several  hours,  and  change  of 
atmosphere  gives  one  a  ravenous  appetite.  You  see,  I  had 
forgotten  to  ask  Ooma  how,  and  how  often,  humans  ate, 
so  when  Tuck  suggested  breakfast  as  a  form  of  entertain- 
ment I  put  myself  in  sympathy  with  the  idea  at  once.  Be- 
sides it  is  most  important  to  know  just  where  to  find  the 
things  you  want,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  made  a  lot  of 
mental  notes  when  we  came,  as  presently  we  did,  to  a 
tower  called  Astoria. 

I  understand  that  the  upper  portions  of  the  edifice  are 
used  for  study  of  the  Stars,  but  we  were  made  welcome  on 
the  lower  story  by  a  stately  being,  who  conducted  us  to 
honorable  seats  in  an  inner  court.    There  were  small  trees 

789 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

growing  here,  green,  of  course,  but  rather  pretty  for  all 
that;  the  people,  gathered  under  their  shade  in  little 
groups,  were  much  more  cheerful  and  sustaining  than  any 
I  had  seen  so  far,  and  an  elemental  intelligence  detailed 
to  minister  to  our  wants  seemed  well-trained  and  docile. 

"Here  you  have  a  glimpse  of  High  Life,"  announced 
Tuck,  when  he  had  written  something  on  a  paper. 

"The  Higher  Life?"  I  inquired,  eagerly,  and  I  did  not 
\  like  the  flippant  tone  in  which  he  answered : 

"No,  not  quite — just  high  enough." 

I  was  beginning  to  be  so  bored  by  his  conceit  and  self- 
complacency  that  I  cast  my  eyes  about  and  smiled  at  sev- 
eral pleasant-looking  persons,  who  returned  the  smile  and 
nodded  in  a  friendly  fashion,  till  I  could  perceive  Tuck's 
aura  bristle  and  turn  greenish-brown. 

"You  can't  possibly  see  any  one  you  know  here,"  he 
protested,  crossly. 

"All  the  better  reason  why  I  should  reach  out  in  search 
of  affinities,"  I  retorted.  But  after  that,  though  I  was 
careful  to  keep  my  eyes  lowered  most  of  the  time,  I  re- 
solved to  come  some  day  to  the  Astoria  alone  and  smile 
at  every  one  I  liked.  I  don't  believe  I  should  ever  know 
a  human  if  Tuck  could  have  his  way. 

Presently  the  elemental  brought  us  delicious  things, 
and  while  we  ate  them  Tuck  talked  about  himself.  It  ap- 
pears he  has  produced  an  opera  here  which  is  a  success. 
People  throng  to  hear  it  and  consider  him  a  great  com- 
poser. At  all  of  which,  you  may  believe,  I  was  astonished 
— just  fancy  our  Tuk  posing  as  a  genius ! — but  presently 
when  he  became  elated  by  the  theme  and  hummed  a  bar 
or  two,  I  understood.  The  wretch  had  simply  actualized 
a  few  essential  harmonies — and  done  it  very  badly.  I  see 
now  why  he  likes  so  much  being  here,  and  understand 
why  his  associates  are  almost  altogether  human.    I  don't 

790 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIELE 

remember  ever  meeting  with  such  deceit  and  effrontery 
before.  I  was  so  indignant  that  I  could  feel  my  astral 
fingers  tremble.  I  could  not  bear  to  look  at  him,  and  as 
by  that  time  I  had  eaten  all  I  could,  I  rose  and  walked 
directly  from  the  court  without  another  word.  I  am  sure 
he  would  have  pursued  me  had  not  the  elemental,  divin- 
ing my  wish  to  escape,  detained  him  forcibly. 

Once  in  the  street  again,  I  immediately  hypnotized  an 
old  lady,  willing  her  to  go  direct  to  Bloomer's  Boarding- 
House  while  I  followed  behind.  It  may  not  have  been 
convenient  for  her,  I  am  afraid,  but  I  knew  of  no  other 
way  to  get  back. — Dear  me,  the  light  is  growing  dim,  and 
I  must  be  dressing  for  the  evening.  Good-by! — By  the 
way,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  something  else  that  happened — 
remind  me  of  it  next  time ! 

The  Third  Record 

— Yes,  I  remember,  and  you  shall  hear  all  about  it  be- 
fore I  describe  an  evening  at  the  Settlement,  but  it  don't 
amount  to  much. — I  told  you  how  cross  and  over-bearing 
Tuck  was  at  the  Astoria  tower,  and  of  the  mean  way  in 
which  he  restricted  my  observations.  Well,  of  all  the 
people  in  the  grove  that  day  there  was  only  one  whom  I 
could  see  without  being  criticized,  and  he  sat  all  alone  and 
facing  me,  just  behind  Tuck's  back.  Some  green  leaves 
hung  between  us,  and  whenever  I  moved  my  head  to  note 
what  he  was  doing  he  moved  his,  too,  to  look  at  me.  He 
seemed  so  lonely  that  I  was  sorry  for  him,  but  his  atmos- 
phere showed  him  to  be  neither  sullen  nor  Uranian,  and 
I  could  not  help  it  if  I  was  just  a  little  bit  responsive.  Be- 
sides, Tuck,  once  on  the  subject  of  his  opera,  grew  so  self- 
engrossed  and  dominant  that  one  had  either  to  assert  one's 
own  mentality  or  become  subjective. 

79i 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

— No,  dear,  that  is  not  the  only  reason.  There  may  be 
such  a  thing  as  an  isolated  reason,  but  I  have  never  met 
one — they  always  go  in  packs.  I  confess  to  a  feeling  of 
interest  in  the  stranger.  Nobody  can  look  at  you  with 
round  blue  eyes  for  half  an  hour  steadily  without  exer- 
cising some  attraction,  either  positive  or  negative,  and  I 
felt,  too,  that  he  was  trying  to  tell  me  something  which 
would  have  been  a  great  deal  more  interesting  than  Tuck's 
opera,  and  I  believe  had  I  remained  a  little  longer  we  could 
have  understood  each  other  between  the  trees  just  as  you 
and  I  can  understand  each  other  across  the  intervals  of 
space.  But  then  it  is  so  easy  to  be  mistaken. — I  had  to 
pass  quite  close  to  him  in  going  out,  and  I  am  not  sure  I 
did  not  drop  a  rose. 

— There  may  be  just  a  weenie  little  bit  more  about  the 
Astorian,  but  that  will  come  in  its  proper  place.  Now  I 
must  get  on  to  the  evening. — It  was  not  much  of  an  occa- 
sion, merely  the  usual  gathering  of  our  crowd,  or  rather 
of  those  of  us  who  have  no  special  assignment  for  the 
time  in  the  large  Council  Room  I  have  described  to  you. 

The  President  of  the  Board  of  Control  at  present  is 
Marlow,  Marlow  the  Great,  as  he  is  called,  the  painter 
whose  pictures  did  so  much  to  elevate  the  Patagonians. — 
No,  dear,  I  never  heard  of  Patagonia  before,  but  I'm  al- 
most sure  it's  not  a  planet. — With  Marlow  came  a  Mrs. 
Mopes,  who  is  engaged  in  creating  schools  of  fiction  by 
writing  stories  under  different  names  and  then  reviewing 
them  in  her  own  seven  magazines.  Next,  taking  the 
guests  at  random,  was  Baxter,  a  deadly  person  in  his  hu- 
man incarnation,  whose  business  it  is  to  make  stocks  fly 
up  or  tumble  down. — I  don't  know  what  stocks  are,  but 
they  must  be  something  very  easily  frightened. — Then 
there  was  a  Mr.  Waller,  nicknamed  the  Reverend,  whom 
the  Council  allows  to  speak  the  truth  occasionally,  while 

792 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIELE 

the  rest  of  the  time  he  tells  people  anything  they  want  to 
hear  to  win  their  confidence.  And  the  two  Miss  Dooleys 
who  sing  so  badly  that  thousands  who  can  not  sing  at  all 
leave  off  singing  altogether  when  they  once  hear  them. 
And  Mr.  Flick,  who  misbehaves  at  funerals  to  distract 
mourners  from  their  grief,  and  a  Mr.  O'Brien,  whose  duty 
it  is  to  fly  into  violent  passions  in  public  places  just  to 
show  how  unbecoming  temper  is. 

There  were  many  others,  so  many  I  can  not  begin  to 
enumerate  them.  Some  had  written  books  and  were 
known  all  over  the  planet,  and  some  who  were  not  known 
at  all  had  done  things  because  there  was  nobody  else  to 
do  them.  And  some  were  singers  and  some  were  actors, 
and  some  were  rich  and  some  were  poor  to  the  outside 
world,  but  in  the  Council  Room  they  met  and  laughed 
and  matched  experiences  and  made  jokes ;  from  the  one 
who  had  built  a  battle  ship  so  terrible  that  all  the  other 
ships  were  burnt  on  condition  that  his  should  be  also,  to 
the  ordinary  helpers  who  applaud  stupid  plays  till  intelli- 
gent human  beings  become  thoroughly  disgusted  with 

bad  art. 

In  the  world,  of  course,  they  are  all  serious  enough, 
and  often  know  each  other  only  by  secret  signs,  while 
every  day  and  night  and  minute  our  poor  earth-brothers 
come  a  little  nearer  the  light— pushed  toward  it,  pulled 
toward  it,  wheedled  and  trickled  and  bullied  and  coaxed, 
and  thinking  all  the  while  how  immensely  clever  they  are, 
and  what  a  wonderful  progressive,  glorious  age  they  have 
brought  about  for  themselves. — At  all  events,  this  is  the 
rather  vague  composite  impression  I  have  received  of  the 
plans  and  purposes  of  the  Board  of  Directors,  and  doubt- 
less it  is  wrong. 

I  suppose  with  a  little  trouble  I  might  have  recognized 
nearly  every  one,  but  the  fancy  took  me  to  suspend  in- 

793 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

tuition  just  to  see  how  Earth  girls  feel,  and  you  know 
when  one  is  hearing  a  lot  of  pleasant  things  one  does  not 
much  care  who  happens  to  be  saying  them. 

I  fancy  Marlow  thought  less  of  me  when  I  confessed 
that  I  am  here  only  for  the  lark,  and  really  do  not  care  a 
meteor  whether  the  planet  is  ever  elevated  or  not.  But 
he  is  a  charming  old  fellow  all  the  same,  and  the  only 
one  of  the  lot  who  has  not  grown  the  least  bit  smudgy. 

Marlow  announced  that  the  evening  would  be  spent  in 
harmony  with  the  vibrations  of  Orion,  and  set  us  all  at 
work  to  get  in  touch.  I  love  Orion  light  myself,  for  none 
other  suits  my  aura  quite  so  well,  and  I  was  glad  to  find 
they  had  not  taken  up  the  Vega  fad. — The  light  here? 
My  dear,  it  is  not  even  filtered. — Some  of  us,  no  doubt 
for  want  of  practice,  were  rather  slow  about  perfecting, 
but  finally  we  all  caught  on,  and  when  O'Brien,  no  longer 
fat  and  florid,  and  the  elder  Miss  Dooley,  no  longer 
scrawny,  moved  out  to  start  the  dance,  there  was  only  one 
who  had  not  assumed  an  astral  personality.  Poor  fellow, 
though  I  pitied  him,  I  did  admire  his  spunk  in  holding 
back.  It  seems  that  as  an  editor  he  took  to  telling  false- 
hoods on  his  own  account  so  often  that  the  Syndicate  is 
packing  him  ofr*  as  Special  Correspondent  to  a  tailless 
comet. 

Tuck  never  came  at  all ;  either  he  realizes  how  honest 
people  must  regard  him  and  his  opera,  or  else  the  elemen- 
tals  at  the  Astoria  are  still  detaining  him. 

We  had  a  lovely  dance,  and  while  we  rested  Marlow  i 
called  pn  some  of  us  for  specialties.  Mrs.  Mopes  did  a 
paragraph  by  a  man  named  Henry  James,  translated  into 
action,  which  seemed  quite  difficult,  and  then  a  person 
called  Parker  externalized  a  violin  and  gave  the  Laocoon 
in  terms  of  sound.  To  me  his  rendering  of  marble  re- 
sembled terra-cotta  until  I  learned  that  the  copy  of  the 

794 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIELZ 

statue  here  is  awfully  weatherstained.  After  this  three 
pretty  girls  gave  the  Aurora  Borealis  by  telepathic  sug- 
gestion rather  well,  and  then  I  sang  "Love  Lives  Every- 
where"— just  plain  so. 

— I  know  this  must  all  sound  dreadfully  flat  to  you, 
quite  like  "Pastimes  for  the  Rainy  Season  in  Neptune," 
but  Bloomer  says  she  doesn't  know  what  would  happen  if 
we  should  ever  give  a  really  characteristic  jolly  party. 

We  wound  up  with  an  Earth  dance  called  the  Virginia 
JReel,  the  quickest  means  you  ever  saw  for  descending  to 
a  lower  psychic  plane.  That's  all  I  have  to  tell,  and  quite 
enough,  I'm  sure  you'll  think.— What  ?  The  Astorian  ?  I 
have  not  seen  him  since. — But  there  is  a  little  more,  a  very 
little,  if  you  are  not  tired. — This  morning  I  received  a  gift 
of  roses,  just  like  the  one  I  dropped  yesterday,  brought 
me  by  the  same  small  embryonic  I  had  seen  in  the  flower 
shop.  I  asked  the  child  in  whose  intelligence  the  impulse 
had  originated,  and  he  replied : 

"A  blue-eyed  feller  with  a  mustache,  but  he  gave  me  a 
plunk  not  to  tell." 

I  understood  a  plunk  to  be  a  token  of  confidence,  and  I 
at  once  expressed  displeasure  at  the  boy's  betrayal  of  his 
trust.  I  told  him  such  an  act  would  make  dark  lines  upon 
his  aura  which  might  not  fade  for  several  days. 

"Say,  ain't  you  got  some  message  to  send  back?"  he 
asked. 

"Boy!"  said  I,  "don't  forget  your  little  aura." 

"All  right,"  he  answered,  "I'll  tell  him  'Don't  forget 
your  little  aura.'   I'll  bet  he  coughs  up  another  plunk." 

I  don't  know  what  he  meant,  but  I  am  very  much 
afraid  there  may  be  some  mistake. — Oh,  yes,  I  am  quite 
sure  to  be  back  in  time  for  the  Solstice. — Or  at  least  for 
the  Eclipse. 


795 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

The  Fourth  Record 

(Note  :  Between  this  logogram  and  the  last  the  Long's 
Peak  Receptive  Pulsator  was  unfortunately  not  in  opera- 
tion for  the  space  of  a  fortnight,  as  the  electrician  who 
took  the  instrument  apart  for  adjustment  found  it  neces- 
sary to  return  to  Denver  for  oil. ) 

— Yes,  dear,  it's  me,  though  if  I  did  not  know  person- 
ality to  be  indestructible  I  should  begin  to  have  my  doubts. 
I  have  not  made  any  more  mistakes,  that  is,  not  any  bad 
ones,  since  I  went  to  the  Astoria  alone  for  lunch,  and  the 
elementals  were  so  very  disagreeable  just  because  I  had 
no  money.  I  know  all  about  money  now,  except  exactly 
how  you  get  it,  and  Tuck  assures  me  that  is  really  of  no 
importance.  I  never  told  Ooma  how  the  blue-eyed  As- 
torian  paid  my  bill  for  me,  and  her  perceptive  faculties 
have  grown  too  dull  to  apprehend  a  thing  she  is  not  told. 
Fresh  roses  still  come  regularly  every  day,  and  of  course 
I  can  do  no  less  than  express  my  gratitude  now  and  then. 
— Oh,  I  don't  know  how  often,  I  don't  remember. — But 
it  is  ever  so  much  pleasanter  to  have  some  one  you  like  to 
show  you  the  way  about  than  to  depend  on  hypnotizing 
strangers,  who  may  have  something  else  to  do. 

— I  told  you  last  week  about  the  picnic,  did  I  not  ?  The 
day,  I  mean,  when  Bloomer  took  me  into  the  country,  and 
Tuck  so  far  forgave  my  rudeness  to  him  as  to  come  with 
us  to  carry  the  basket. — Oh,  yes,  indeed,  I  am  becoming 
thoroughly  domesticated  on  Earth.  And,  my  dear,  these 
humans  are  docility  itself  when  you  once  acquire  the 
knack  of  making  them  do  exactly  as  you  wish,  which  is  as 
easy  as  falling  off  a  log. — A  log  is  the  external  evidence 
of  a  pre-existent  tree,  cylindrical  in  form,  and  though 
often  sticky,  not  sufficiently  so  to  be  adhesive. 

— That  picnic  was  so  pleasant — or  would  have  been  but 

796 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIELE 

for  Bloomer's  anxiety  that  I  should  behave  myself,  and 
Tuck's  anxiety  that  I  should  not — that  I  determined  to 
have  another  all  by  myself — and  I  have  had  it. 

I  traveled  to  the  same  little  dell  I  described  before,  and 
I  put  my  feet  in  the  water  just  as  I  wasn't  allowed  to  do 
the  other  day.  And  I  built  a  fire  and  almost  cooked  an 
egg  and  ate  cake  (an  egg  is  the  bud  of  a  bird,  and  cake  is 
edible  poetry)  sitting  on  a  fence. — Fences  grow  horizon- 
tally and  have  no  leaves. — Don't  ask  so  many  questions ! 

After  a  while,  however,  I  became  tired  of  being  alone, 
so  I  started  off  across  some  beautiful  green  meadows  to- 
ward a  hillside,  where  I  had  observed  a  human  walking 
about  and  waving  a  forked  wand.  He  proved  the  strang- 
est-looking being  I  have  met  with  yet,  more  like  those 
wild  and  woolly  space-dwellers  who  tumbled  out  when 
that  tramp  comet  bumped  against  our  second  moon.  But 
he  was  a  considerate  person,  for  when  he  saw  me  coming 
and  divined  that  I  should  be  tired,  he  piled  up  a  quantity 
of  delicious-scented  herbage  for  me  to  sit  on. 

"Good  morning,  mister,"  I  said,  plumping  myself  down 
upon  the  mound  he  had  made,  and  he,  being  much  more 
impressionable  than  you  would  suppose  from  his  Uranian 
appearance,  replied : 

"I  swan,  I  like  your  cheek." 

"It's  a  pleasant  day,"  I  said,  because  one  is  always  ex- 
pected to  announce  some  result  of  observation  of  the  at- 
mosphere. It  shows  at  once  whether  or  not  one  is  an  idiot. 

"I  call  it  pretty  danged  hot,"  he  returned,  intelligently. 

"Then  why  don't  you  get  out  of  the  sun?"  I  suggested, 
more  to  keep  the  conversation  fluid  than  because  I  cared 
a  bit. 

"I'm  a-goin'  to,"  he  answered,  "just  as  soon  as  that 
goll-darned  wagon  comes."  (A  "goll-darned"  wagon  is,  I 
think,  a  wagon  without  springs.) 

797 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 


«i 


'What  are  you  going  to  do  then  ?"  I  asked,  beginning 
to  fear  I  should  be  left  alone  again  after  all  my  trouble. 

"Goin'  home  to  dinner,"  he  replied,  and  I  at  once  said 
I  would  go  with  him. — You  see,  I  had  placed  a  little  too 
much  reliance  on  the  egg. 

"I  dunno  about  that,  but  I  guess  it  will  be  all  right," 
he  urged,  hospitably,  and  presently  the  goll-darned  wagon 
arrived  with  another  man,  who  turned  out  to  be  the  first 
one's  son  and  who  looked  as  though  he  bit. 

Together  the  two  threw  all  the  herbage  into  the  wagon 
till  it  was  heaped  far  above  their  heads. 

"How  am  I  ever  to  get  up?"  I  asked,  for  I  had  no  idea 
of  walking  any  farther,  and  I  could  see  tne  man's  white 
house  ever  so  far  away. 

"Who  said  you  was  goin'  to  get  up  at  all?"  inquired 
the  biter,  disagreeably,  but  the  other  answered  for  me. 

"I  said  it,  that's  who,  you  consarned  jay,"  he  an- 
nounced, reprovingly. 

When  I  had  made  them  both  climb  up  first  and  give  me 
each  a  hand,  I  had  no  difficulty  at  all  in  mounting,  but  I 
was  very  careful  not  to  thank  the  Jay,  which  seemed  to 
make  him  more  morose  than  ever.  Then  they  slid  down 
again,  and  off  we  started. 

Once  when  we  came  to  some  lovely  blue  flowers  grow- 
ing in  water  near  the  roadside  I  told  the  Jay  to  stop  and 
wade  in  and  pick  them  for  me. 

"I'll  be  dogged  if  I  do,"  he  answered ;  so  I  said : 

"I  don't  know  what  being  'dogged'  means,  but  if  it  is 
a  reward  for  being  nice  and  kind  and  polite,  I  hope  you 
will  be." 

Whereupon  he  bit  at  me  once  and  waded  in,  while  the 
other  man,  whose  name,  it  seems,  was  Pop,  sat  down  upon 
a  stone  and  laughed. 

"Gosh !   If  this  don't  beat  the  cats,"  he  said,  slapping 

798 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    YIELE 

his  knee,  which  was  his  way  of  making  himself  laugh 
harder. 

I  put  the  flowers  in  my  hair  and  in  my  belt  and  wher- 
ever I  could  stick  them.  But  there  was  still  a  lot  left  over, 
and  whenever  we  met  people  I  threw  them  some,  which 
appeared  to  please  Pop,  but  made  the  Jay  still  more  bite-y. 

Presently  we  came  to  a  very  narrow  place  and  there,  as 
luck  would  have  it,  we  met  an  automobile. — Thank  good- 
ness, I  need  not  explain  automobile. — And  who  should  be 
at  the  lever  all  alone  but — the  Astorian. 

I  recognized  him  instantly,  and  he  recognized  me, 
which  was,  I  suppose,  his  reason  for  forgetting  to  stop 
till  he  had  nearly  run  us  down.  In  a  moment  we  were  in 
the  wildest  tangle,  though  nothing  need  have  happened 
had  not  the  Jay  completely  lost  his  temper. 

"Hang  your  picture!"  he  called  out,  savagely,  "What 
do  you  want  ? — The  Earth  ?" 

And  with  that  he  struck  the  animals — the  wagon  was 
not  self-propelling — a  violent  blow,  and  they  sprang  for- 
ward with  a  lurch  which  made  the  hay  begin  to  slip.  I 
tried  to  save  myself,  but  there  was  nothing  to  catch  hold 
of,  so  off  I  slid  and — oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  just  fancy  it! 
— I  landed  directly  in  his  lap. — No,  not  the  Jay's. — Of 
course,  I  stayed  there  as  short  a  time  as  possible,  for  he 
was  very  nice  about  moving  up  to  make  room  for  me  on 
the  seat,  but  I  am  afraid  it  did  seem  frightfully  informal 
just  at  first. 

"It  was  all  the  fault  of  that  consarned  Jay,"  I  ex- 
plained, as  soon  as  I  had  recovered  my  composure,  "and 
I  shall  never  ride  in  his  goll-darned  wagon  again." 

"I  sincerely  hope  you  will  not,"  replied  Astoria,  look- 
ing at  me  with  the  most  curious  expression.  "It  would  be 
much  better  to  let  me  take  you  wherever  you  wish  to  go." 

"That's  awfully  kind  of  you,"  I  said,  "but  I  don't  care 

709 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

to  go  anywhere  in  particular  this  afternoon,  except  as  far 
as  possible  from  that  objectionable  young  man." 

The  Astorian  did  not  speak  again  till  he  had  turned 
something  in  the  machine  to  make  it  back  and  jerk,  and, 
once  free  from  the  upset  hay,  go  on  again. 

"Say,  Sissy,  I  thought  you  was  comin'  to  take  dinner," 
Pop  called  out  from  under  the  wagon,  where  he  had 
crawled  for  safety,  and  when  I  replied  as  nicely  as  I  could, 
"No,  thank  you,  not  to-day,"  he  said  again,  quite  sadly  as 
I  thought,  "Gosh  blim  me,  if  that  don't  beat  the  cats !"  and 
also  several  other  things  I  could  not  hear  because  we  were 
moving  away  so  rapidly. 

When  we  had  gone  about  a  hundred  miles — or  yards, 
or  inches,  whichever  it  was — the  Astorian,  who  had  been 
sitting  very  straight,  inquired  if  those  gentlemen — mean- 
ing Pop  and  Jay — were  near  relatives. 

I  showed  him  plainly  that  I  thought  his  question 
Uranian,  and  explained  that  I  had  not  a  relative  on  Earth. 
Then  I  told  him  exactly  how  I  had  come  to  be  with  them, 
and  about  my  picnic  and  the  egg.  I  am  afraid  I  did  not 
take  great  pains  to  make  the  story  very  clear,  for  it  was 
such  fun  to  perplex  him.  He  is  not  at  all  like  the  Venus 
people,  who  have  become  so  superlatively  clever  that  they 
are  always  bored  to  death. 

"Were  you  surprised  to  see  me  flying  through  the  air  ?" 
I  asked. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said ;  "I  have  always  thought  of  you  as 
coming  to  Earth  in  some  such  way  from  some  far-distant 
planet." 

"Oh,  then,  you  know !"  I  gasped. 

The  Astorian  laughed. 

"I  know  you  are  the  one  perfect  being  in  the  world,  and 
that  is  quite  enough,"  he  said,  and  I  saw  at  once  that 
whatever  he  had  guessed  about  me  he  knew  nothing  at  all 
of  the  Settlement. 

800 


HERMAN    KNICKERBOCKER    VIELE 

"Miss  Aura,"  he  went  on, — he  has  called  me  that  ever 
since  that  little  embryonic  made  his  stupid  blunder,  and  I 
have  not  corrected  him — here  it  is  almost  necessary  to 
have  some  sort  of  a  name — "Miss  Aura,  don't  you  think 
we  have  been  mere  acquaintances  long  enough  ?  I'm  only 
human — " 

"Yes,  of  course,"  I  interrupted,  "but  then  that  is  not 
your  fault — " 

"I'm  glad  you  look  upon  my  misfortune  so  charitably," 
he  said,  a  trifle  more  puzzled  than  usual,  as  I  fancied. 

"It  is  my  duty,"  I  replied.  "I  want  to  elevate  you;  to 
brighten  your  existence." 

"My  Aura!"  he  whispered;  and  I  was  not  quite  sure 
whether  he  meant  me  or  not. 

We  were  moving  rapidly  along  the  broad  road  beside 
a  river.  There  were  hills  in  the  distance  and  the  air  from 
them  was  in  the  key  of  the  Pleiades.  There  were  gardens 
everywhere  full  of  sunlight  translated  into  flowers,  and 
without  an  effort  one  divined  the  harmony  of  growing 
things.  I  felt  that  something  was  about  to  happen;  I 
knew  it,  but  I  did  not  care  to  ask  what  it  might  be.  Per- 
haps if  I  had  tried  I  could  not  have  known;  perhaps  for 
that  hour  I  was  only  an  Earth  girl  and  could  only  know 
things  as  they  know  them,  but  I  did  not  care. 

We  were  going  faster,  faster  every  moment. 

"Was  it  you  who  willed  me  to  come  out  into  the  coun- 
try?" I  asked.  "Have  you  been  watching  for  me  and  ex- 
pecting me?" 

We  were  moving  now  as  clouds  that  rush  across  a 
moon. 

"I  think  I  have  been  watching  for  you  all  my  life  and 
willing  you  to  come,"  he  said,  which  shows  how  dread- 
fully unjust  we  sometimes  are  to  humans. 

"While  I  was  on  another  planet?"  I  inquired.    "While 

801 

Vol.  4— IS 


THE    GIRL    FROM    MERCURY 

we  were  millions  and  millions  of  miles  apart?  Suppose 
that  I  had  never  come  to  Earth  ?" 

We  were  moving  like  the  falling-  stars  one  journeys  to 
the  Dark  Hemisphere  to  see. 

"I  should  have  found  you  all  the  same,"  he  whispered, 
half  laughing,  but  his  blue  eyes  glistened.  "I  do  not  think 
that  space  itself  could  separate  us." 

"Oh,  do  you  realize  that?"  I  asked,  "and  do  you  really 
know?" 

"I  know  I  have  you  with  me  now,"  he  said,  "and  that 
is  all  I  care  to  know." 

We  were  flying  now,  flying  as  comets  fly  to  perihelion. 
The  world  about  was  slipping  from  us,  disintegrating 
and  dissolving  into  cosmic  thoughts  expressed  in  color. 
Only  his  eyes  were  actual,  and  the  blue  hills  far  away,  and 
the  wind  from  them  in  the  key  of  the  Pleiades. 

"There  shall  never  any  more  be  time  or  space  for  us," 

he  said. 

"But,"  I  protested,  "we  must  not  overlook  the  funda- 
mental facts." 

"In  all  the  universe  there  is  just  one  fact,"  he  cried, 
catching  my  hand  in  his,  and  then — 

(Note:  Here  a  portion  of  the  logogram  becomes  in- 
decipherable, owing,  perhaps,  to  the  passage  of  some  large 
bird  across  the  line  of  projection.  What  follows  is  the 
last  recorded  vibragraph  to  date. ) 

— Yes,  dear,  I  know  I  should  have  been  more  circum- 
spect. I  should  have  remembered  my  position,  but  I 
didn't.  And  that's  why  I'm  engaged  to  be  married.— You 
have  to  here,  when  you  reach  a  certain  point — I  know 
you  will  think  it  a  great  come-down  for  one  of  us,  but 
after  all  do  we  not  owe  something  to  our  sister  planets  ? — 


802 


THE 


HEALTH-CARE 

OF   THE 

BABY 

By    LOUIS    FISCHER,    M.D. 

"THE  HEALTH-CARE  OF  THE  BABY" 

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this  book  Dr.  Fischer,  and  he  has  had  wide  experi- 
ence in  the  treatment  of  children,  gives  suggestions 
and  advice  for  feeding  the  infant  in  health,  and  when 
the  stomach  and  bowels  are  out  of  order.  The 
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well  as  to  the  old  mother.  Teething  is  properly  rid  of  ita  horrors 
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-»■  a 


TheCareandTraining 

OF 

CHILDREN 

By  Le  GRAND  KERR,   M.D. 

No  two  children  are  exactly  alike ;  not  even 
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Their  temperaments,  their  ambitions,  their  ideas  of 
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Child  Training 

AS    AN    EXACT    SCIENCE 
By   George  W.  Jacoby,  M.D. 

Based  upon  Modern  Psychology, 
Medicine  and  Hygiene 

The  Parent,  the  Physician,  the 
Teacher,  the  Nurse,  will  find  this 
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The  New  York  Times,  8ays : — "Study  of  this 
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Vital  Helps   Toward   Body-Building 

HOME     GYMNASTICS 

According  to  the  Ling  System 

By  Prof.  ANDERS  WIDE,  M.D. 

This  system  of  gymnastics  has  been  designed  on 
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"A  practical    handbook    for    home    use." — Detroit    Timet. 

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A  New  Book  Dedicated  to  All  Girls  Whose  Ambition 
Is  to  Lead  a  Happy,  Healthful,  Useful  Life. 

Health  and  Happiness 

A  MESSAGE  TO  GIRLS. 

By  ELIZA  M.  MOSHER,  M.D. 

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Very  simply  and  clearly  the  structure  and  functions 
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RECOMMENDED  BY  THE  AMERICAN  MEDICAL 
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E 


xercises  ror 


forW 


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Most  women  are  very  definitely  in  need  of  some 
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This  new  book  by  Florence  Bolton,  A. B.,  formerly 
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practical  exercises,  adapted  to  meet  the  peculiar  re- 
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The  combination  of  different  exercises  includes 
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in  the  securing  and  preservation  of  a  full,  rounded, 
graceful  figure. 

For  Every  Woman  Everywhere  Who  Desires 
PHYSICAL    GRACE,    and   POWER 

and    the    mental   satisfaction    consequent    upon    both. 

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scribing exercises  for  their  patients,  to  teachers  of 
gymnastics  for  class  and  private  work,  to  the  college 
woman  who  has  left  gymnasium  days  behind,  and  to 
EVERY  WOMAN,  EVERYWHERE  who  desires 
PHYSICAL  GRACE,  and  POWER. 

HAS  DONE  HER  SEX  GOOD  SERVICE 

"  Florence  Bolton  .  .  .  has  done  her  sex  good  service  in  this 
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Chicago,  111. 

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